


who is peter parker?

by bstarship



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Peter Parker, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Peter Parker is a Mess, Precious Peter Parker, Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Has Self-Esteem Issues, Tony Stark Has Trust Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark is Good With Kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-01-24 17:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 40,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21341935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bstarship/pseuds/bstarship
Summary: If Tony couldn’t be a part of Peter’s life, he didn’t want him to know. He didn’t want Peter to grow up wondering about Tony. He didn’t want Peter to grow up thinking that his own father had left him behind.And still, the facts were unknown. Yet, Tony saw his own eyes staring back at him that day. He saw his smile, and he heard his laugh. He saw his future for a brief moment in time. Peter Parker was meant to be a part of Tony Stark’s life.orTony Stark is Peter's biological father, but he is not granted guardianship after the death of Peter's parents. Tony is forced to watch Peter grow up from afar.
Relationships: Friday & Tony Stark, Happy Hogan & Peter Parker, Happy Hogan & Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) & Tony Stark, Karen (Spider-Man: Homecoming) & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 137
Kudos: 1222
Collections: Best Tony and Peter





	1. the toy truck

**Author's Note:**

> not sure if i like the title but tbh does it really matter
> 
> also not exactly sure where this may go, but there's always fun in that!! let's hope for the best

** **2005.** **

Tony received the phone call during an evening in Vegas.

His hands were warm, frantically fleeting between a drink and the waists of women to his left and right. Each spoke softly in his ear, gentle voices carrying incoherent words, meanwhile Tony thought about a nice, hot rotisserie chicken. He could picture its golden-brown skin smeared in a hickory barbecue sauce as the delectable flavors danced on his tongue. His stomach growled, and he hummed in satisfaction.

“Okay,” he announced, “fuck this game. It’s rigged anyway. Who’s hungry?” Tony clapped his hands together, and a chorus of cheers followed. His cheeks ached from the grin stretching on his skin–– it was the kind of smile that felt good for a matter of time, but once that façade crumbled, its meaning washed away.

A large hand grabbed his shoulder. “Tony.”

The billionaire turned, yelling out a curt, “hey!” as colors and shapes spun around him. In a matter of seconds, a man had formed before Tony’s eyes. “Hap–– _Happy!_ Hey, hey, you’re lookin’ pretty t’night, baby.”

“Tony,” Happy repeated, tone firm and professional. “Phone call for you.”

“Phone call?” Tony patted the guard’s shoulder. “I’m on vacay, buddy. No phone calls tonight.”

Happy shook his head. “I think you should take this one.”

The call was quick. Tony, in his lighthearted, drunken stupor, hardly thought much about it. The influx of information overwhelmed his brain, and the chicken scratches on his hotel notepad were unintelligible. An address, a few names, and the unfortunate news that Mary and Richard Parker had died–– whoever the _hell_ they were.

“Do you remember anyone named Mary?” asked Tony. His stomach swirled with the side effects of the call, plus the aftermath of drinking until he forgot his middle name. The hotel chair was rough beneath his pants, a sensation that made it hard to sit still.

“No,” said Happy. He stood in the corner with his hands clasped in front of him. It looked as though he was waiting for something to happen. “Should I?”

“Nope.” Tony glanced at the notepad again. He wanted to make sure he had his information right. “Apparently, I should, though. Got a _son_ with her.”

Happy huffed a quick laugh. “You have a _son_ with a hundred other women. All have accused you of bolting at the news. What’s so different about this one?”

Tony sniffed, mouth curling while he tapped the pen against the tabletop. “She’s dead,” he said, but his voice was void of emotion. “Killed in a plane crash with her husband.”

“Shit,” Happy muttered.

“Yeah, _shit_, exactly.” Tony rubbed at his forehead, and he tried not to let the rhythmic pulsations in his temples distract from the matter at hand. He felt sick to his stomach–– certainly, the amount of alcohol he had consumed was not helping his case, and he wished he was back home in his workshop.

“Does the kid have any other family?” asked Happy. “Maybe we can––“

“I don’t fucking _know_ anything about this goddamn kid, Happy!” Tony snapped suddenly, his hands balling into fists against the laminate wood while the silence settled in. “Sorry–– sorry, Hap. It’s just–– it’s just a lotta information right now. Got a meet with some agency. Don’t even know if I get to meet the kid. Doesn’t really matter anyway.”

“Maybe it’s not even yours.”

Tony sighed. “Can’t be so sure about that one,” he mumbled. “_Somehow, _I signed the birth certificate. Pack your bags, Harold. We fly to New York in the morning.”

–––

Tony couldn’t sleep that night, nor on the plane ride the next day. The carefree side of him believed it would all blow over soon, that it was all a miscommunication and that the agency had gotten their facts wrong. But another part of him trusted the gut feeling that flooded over in waves of nausea. The clouds below were blinding white streaks in his vision.

He neglected Happy’s advice to not wallow in the details. Happy hadn’t heard the solemn tone of the man’s voice on the phone. He hadn’t heard each name listed–– hadn’t heard that the poor kid was only four years old. A little boy named Peter who lived in Queens, who now didn’t have parents, who now had to live the rest of his life desperately trying to not forget their memory. Tony knew a little bit about that.

But he had also been an adult when his parents died. Peter was only four.

“You can just deny all of this, Tony,” said Happy after the long drive into Queens. “Just say you don’t wanna meet the thing. Say the kid’s not yours, and then we can go get a burger or something.”

Tony was unable to answer.

The halls of the agency were long and narrow–– the dark corridors only fueled his anxiety. He felt too expensive for the carpet beneath his feet. He felt like his clothes left a squeaky residue along every inch of the wooden-paneled walls.

“Does it smell musty in here to you?” Tony asked, yet there was no answer. He imagined the hallway stretching longer and longer. He imagined the soles of shoes melting against the carpet’s synthetic fibers, a hot, toxic smoke rising with each step he took. The lighting was harsh yet pathetic, and its greenish hues left sick bile bubbling in Tony’s throat.

“This the room?” asked Happy as he slowed to stop beside a door.

Tony glanced at the nameplate. _Eliza M. Ramsay, Guardianship Attorney._

He walked inside without warning–– without a single knock to let the woman know of his arrival. For all he knew, this had been a scam. Tony managed to muster up enough confidence to convince himself that he wasn’t worried. But truth be told, he believed he had every right to worry. Something felt off. Something felt wrong.

Tony breathed out a sigh of relief. Eliza was sitting at her desk, no kid in sight.

“Mister Stark,” she said, surprise lacing her tone. “You’re early.”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Take a seat, please,” she ushered. “We’ll have you look over a few papers meanwhile. Were you filled in on all of the details?”

Tony’s confidence quickly evaporated once he took a seat in the cushioned chair. It squeaked beneath his weight, and it continued its shrill noises as he shifted uncomfortably. He placed his leg over the other.

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “Um, what am I doing here?”

“It’s all legality issues, Mister Stark,” she said. “Because your name is printed on the birth certificate, you will just have to go through the process of offering up legal guardianship to May and Benjamin Parker.”

“Can I see this birth certificate?” Tony asked, meanwhile, his knee bounced, and his fingers twitched.

_He doesn’t want a kid. He doesn’t want a kid. He doesn’t play well with others, and he doesn’t want a kid. This isn’t _his_ fucking _kid.

But Tony knew himself pretty well. He knew he had a good reason to worry. If he had fucked around that much after the turn of the century, he didn’t doubt he might have signed a birth certificate or two. Problem was, he didn’t remember a single thing.

Eliza nodded. “Of course. I also need you to sign this paper––” She set a wordy sheet down onto the mahogany desk. “It’s asking whether or not you consent to a genetic evaluation to make sure Peter is your son.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Tony––”

Tony twisted to face Happy who was stood beside the door. The billionaire gave a wink and turned back around.

“Very well,” said Eliza. She slid another piece of paper––this one blue––out of a manila folder and set it before Tony. It was small, slightly wrinkled, and written in along the middle was _Peter Benjamin Fitzgerald_.

Tony’s full name had been typed in fine print. Beside it was his sloppy signature.

“I signed for paternity,” he stated. He didn’t bother second-guessing it.

Eliza placed another paper down. “On the birth certificate, yes. On the physical legal form, no. You are not legally Peter’s father.”

“So, why am I here?”

The door opened soon after, and Tony was slow to turn around. His entire body had stiffened, sore muscles suffocating rigid bones, and he still struggled to grasp the situation at hand. It didn’t quite seem real, not until a little boy of only four years old walked right up to Tony’s face and poked his cheek.

“You’re the gun man,” the boy said.

Tony’s brows furrowed. Before he could answer, a woman (who seemed to be _exactly_ Tony’s type if he were honest, though he wouldn’t harp on the subject much longer) walked over and knelt beside the young boy.

“No, no, Peter, that’s _Tony_,” she explained in a hushed voice. Her eyes met Tony’s. “Sorry,” she said with a smile.

“No worries.” Tony smiled in return. He stood, and she did, too. So, he held out his hand for her to shake.

She eyed it for a brief moment, and she soon warily returned the gesture before pressing her glasses further up her nose. “I’m May. Peter’s aunt.”

“Tony Stark.”

“Yes, we’re very aware,” she said. Her voice held more aggression than the smile painted on her face. She held Peter close to her legs, delicate, nimble fingers gripping at his jacket to keep him from running toward Tony.

He could sense her disapproval. It emitted from her like damn gamma radiation. Tony’s stomach lurched at the sight of her eyes so cold against him, and he wished he could take a peek into her brain. He wished he could see the version of himself that she saw–– maybe then he wouldn’t feel so offended by this ghastly façade.

“Well,” he said, “let’s make this brief. Shall we?”

May cocked her head. “I’m truly shocked you even bothered showing up. This isn’t your typical brand.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” He flashed her a grin, but he turned toward Eliza before May could react. “What do I gotta do?”

“Actually, Mister Stark,” said Eliza, “if you don’t mind, I would like to have a word with Mrs. Parker.”

Tony’s expression fell, and it took every bit of him not to retaliate with an eye roll. Meanwhile, May had sat in front of the desk with Peter on her lap. The child was well-behaved, and even Tony had to admit that his big brown eyes were too damn cute. Peter smiled up at Tony.

Tony smiled back.

“Why don’t you go play with your trucks over there, Peter?” May whispered. She pointed in the direction of an empty corner beside a bookshelf. Giggles filled the room quickly as she tickled Peter’s sides.

Tony chuckled along, even if the squeals did hurt his eardrums a little bit. Maybe he didn’t mind it all that much. It was a pure joy that he didn’t experience much as a kid, a pure joy that Tony so badly had wanted to encapsulate in his hobbies as he got older. But that was the issue with getting older–– things no longer felt as fun.

He watched the young boy run toward the empty carpet space. May and Eliza’s voices quickly filled the room, meanwhile, Tony completely forgot about Happy’s existence. All Tony saw was Peter sitting with his tiny Tonka trucks against a pale green carpet. All Tony saw was naivety, an innocence he wished he could permanently hold onto just in case the kid ever found he lost it.

Tony walked over and sat in front of Peter. “Hey, buddy,” he said. The warmth of his smile spread onto his cheeks. “Can I play trucks with you?”

The boy nodded. He was small, almost too small for his age, yet his eyes were larger than life. He held curiosity behind them, as he had yet to know the weight of the world that crumbled around Tony.

“Which one can I play with?” asked Tony.

There were three trucks, but only two of them were pretty and bright. The one in Peter’s hands looked like it had been built from scraps. Without another word, he handed that truck over to Tony.

“Made this one,” Peter said. “You can use it.”

“You made this?”

Peter hummed.

Tony held up the little truck and smiled. He had forgotten about the situation. He had forgotten about the person who knew the kid better than anyone else. He had forgotten about everything he was meant to feel, because as Tony glanced down at Peter––the small boy from Queens who had only lost his parents barely a week ago, it all changed.

Now, Peter was running his toys against Tony’s knees, forcing sounds only a kid imitating a truck would make, and Tony had a new feeling overwhelm his chest. He hadn’t smiled that genuine in years. He had never wanted kids.

“How is it able to drive on the bookcase?” he asked as he watched Peter drive his trucks up the wooden shelves.

The kid was on his knees, making the trucks climb higher and higher until he dropped them back down onto the carpet. They landed with a plasticky clatter. Peter giggled and shrugged. “They’re sticky,” he said. “They got sticky stuff on their wheels so they can stick to things.”

“Does mine stick, too?” Tony lifted the handmade truck to the bookcase.

Peter put his hand on Tony’s and held it back. “Nope. Yours isn’t sticky like mine.”

“Bummer.”

“Hey, Peter,” said May. “It’s time to go.”

Tony was mid-laugh as he twisted his torso around. The room behind him had been a part of another universe. Their faces were cold, even Happy’s, and the aunt had one hand on the doorknob, the other held out for Peter to grab. He went bounding over.

“It’s been a pleasure,” May said to Tony, her expression tight. She leaned down. “Peter, you wanna say bye to Mister Stark?”

Peter waved. “Bye Mista Stark.”

Tony grinned and waved back at the kid. His smile faltered once the door shut, and his eyes fell to the forgotten toy left sitting in his palm. He didn’t have the strength to run after them.

Happy’s stare burned. “Tony.”

Tony couldn’t tear his gaze away from the truck. He tossed it between his hands, ran his fingers along the glue-covered wooden block, and clenched his jaw a few times. The thought bursting in his brain bugged him, and he knew better. He knew better than to follow his heart with a ridiculous idea. It had pained him to watch that kid walk away, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

“I wanna sign for paternity,” he said.

“Tony––“

“All right, then, Mister Stark,” said Eliza.

He stared at the wall ahead.

“We will have to hold a court meeting,” she continued, “since Mrs. Parker refuses consenting to allow you to hold any parentage. She has requested a probate court to fight for custody. We will keep in touch.”

Tony nodded as he turned the truck over. On the bottom, in tiny, broken letters, the name _Peter _had been written in fading ink.

–––

Tony had meant to return the truck after the trial. But the judge hadn’t ruled in his favor–– he hadn’t expected them to. He knew they would look at his past, his present, and his future. He knew they would pull out all of the stops to convince him that he would be an unfit parent. And Tony agreed. He agreed to every single one of May Parker’s arguments. He sat in silence, mind reeling as she avoided his gaze. She couldn’t look at him.

He didn’t blame her. He didn’t blame her husband, the brother of Peter’s true father. Tony didn’t blame Pepper for ridiculing him over and over until he stopped listening. He stopped listening because he knew she was right. But when he remembered the look of joy on Peter’s face, Tony’s heart broke. He had never wanted a kid before, and then _he did_.

Tony knew he was going to lose. His hand was warm, covered in sweat from having held onto the toy truck for so long, and then he thought of an idea. He offered support, as much as May and Ben would need to take care of their kid. They were his guardians now.

He offered them support on one condition. If Tony couldn’t be a part of Peter’s life, he didn’t want him to know. He didn’t want Peter to grow up wondering about Tony. He didn’t want Peter to grow up thinking that his own father had left him behind.

And still, the facts were unknown. Yet, Tony saw his own eyes staring back at him that day. He saw his smile, and he heard his laugh. He saw his future for a brief moment in time. Peter Parker was meant to be a part of Tony Stark’s life.

The court adjourned moments later. Tony walked out without another word, a handmade toy truck in one hand and nothing in the other. 


	2. double espresso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year has passed since Tony first met Peter. Not much has changed, but he can't keep his secret hidden from everyone–– not even his closest friends.

** **2006.** **

“Rise and shine, JARVIS.”

_“Good morning, sir. It is currently 7:02 A.M. The weather is 68 degrees Fahrenheit with scattered clouds.”_

Tony hummed as he tapped a screwdriver against his wrist. AC/DC played throughout the workshop, and for once, he was excited to begin the day. Whether it was adrenaline or espresso coursing through his veins, he hadn’t felt this energized in years.

“Surf conditions?”

_“Fair with waist to shoulder high lines.”_

Tony nodded. “Thought so.”

_“High tide will be at 10:46 A.M.,” _continued the AI.

“Ooh, exciting,” Tony said, meanwhile, the tapping had become aggressive drumming along any surface he could find. “What should I have for breakfast, J?”

_“Miss Potts has brought bagels, sir.”_

Tony straightened his posture. “Turn off the music,” he said. The workshop fell silent. “You said she brought_ bagels?_ Hold on–– what are my plans for next week? We gotta plan a wedding.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said a delicate voice from the stairwell. The sound of her heels clicking against the concrete met Tony’s ears before he was able to steal a glance at her. A smile found his face when he did. “_You_ are supposed to be presenting at the Air Force base in an hour. Unless you’ve forgotten already.”

“Of course, I haven’t forgotten,” Tony replied. “I’m just warming up my speech. Greasing the wheels before they run. You know, all that stuff.”

“Uh-huh.” Pepper folded her arms around a dry-cleaning bag. “And what exactly is this speech?”

Tony sat himself down on a stool and blinked up at the ceiling. “Uh––”

“Thought so,” she said, setting the bag down against a workbench. “Your suit. And, Rhodey will be––“

_“Sir, I hate to interrupt––”_

“And yet, you interrupt,” said Tony.

_“Peter Parker has been hospitalized for pneumonia.”_

“He’s––shit, did you say pneumonia?” Tony furrowed his brows. “How in the hell did that fucking kid get pneumonia?” he whispered as he pulled up a file on the monitors before him. Peter’s medical information was illegally displayed within an instant. “He’s got asthma now? J, I told you to––“

“Tony,” said Pepper. Her voice dripped in concern, not to mention confusion as well. When he looked her way, it was written all over her face. “What the _hell_ are you doing now?”

He shrugged, motioning toward the screens as if it were nothing. “Checking on Peter.”

“I thought you had left that all behind,” she said. “He’s not yours to check up on, Tony.”

Tony sighed. He knew she was right, however, that never meant he would admit it. Pepper was always right, but her ideas interfered with the impulsive mechanisms coagulating in his brain. He had been keeping an eye on Peter for about a year now, but only when it mattered most. Tony knew what the kid was allergic to, he knew what preschool he was at, and he _now_ knew that the poor boy had asthma, too.

“It still doesn’t make sense,” Pepper continued.

Tony didn’t look at her. His eyes were too busy examining over medical details he had already memorized. Peter was underweight. Peter was behind in growth. Peter was too damn small for his age. Tony spent every day worrying about that fact alone.

“You need to move on,” she said. “I know you don’t want to, but Tony, this kid doesn’t even know you.”

He glanced at Pepper, insightfully reading the exhaustion in her features before closing all files on Peter Parker. “He’s my son.”

“But he’s not your child,” she replied.

Tony rapped his knuckles against the metal table below him. Pepper was right–– she was _always right_. She knew how to slap him in the face with words he didn’t want to hear.

“JARVIS, resume music.”

AC/DC filled the large space once again, and Tony walked away. He didn’t understand the weight settling in his chest. Even after a year, he didn’t know why he cared so much about a kid he met once. It didn’t make sense to him either. Tony grabbed a toolbox and opened the hood of his roadster.

“You have to admit it’s not right,” called Pepper. She followed his trail slowly. “I know you care, but you met him once. And–– JARVIS, pause the music, please.”

“Don’t listen to her, J,” said Tony.

The music paused.

Tony rolled his eyes, but he kept his back to Pepper as he fumbled with a few tools. He hadn’t prepared to run into this conversation with her so soon, but, if he were to be honest, he should have. She knew him better than he knew himself, and he was surprised he had gone a year with only Happy knowing. Nevertheless, Tony wore his dread proudly.

“What is really going on, Tony?” she asked softly. Her voice always kept him calm, but it was a question he didn’t want to answer. A question that always seized up his spine and kept him blinking away tears. Because for some reason, she was the only one that ever asked him if he was okay.

“Everyone wants me to be a better person,” he said, words slow and hushed. He kept his eyes shut as he spoke. “So, why does no one give me the fucking chance?”

Pepper sighed. “It’s not that––”

“No, it’s _exactly that_,” he interrupted with a new force to his tone. He turned to face her. “No one thinks that maybe for once in my life I could do something _good_.”

“Tony, you’re impulsive.”

“Yeah, and I impulsively wanted to be a father to my son,” he retaliated, articulating every word with his hands. “I don’t see the crime in that.”

“Really?” Pepper crossed her arms. “You don’t see the issue?”

“No.”

“Your arrogance alone would set a bad example,” she said. “How would your son feel if–– if he saw these _women_ coming in and out of his house left and right––”

Tony chuckled in disbelief.

“––all because you met them one night and kicked them out the next morning?” Her gaze was hard, and the disappointment seeped through her expression. “How would he feel seeing your face plastered on every newsstand because of some new mistake you were forced to clean up? How would he feel being raised in a home you’re never in because you’re the CEO of a company you barely have the energy to care about?”

Tony’s lips twisted as he digested her words. He deserved this. He knew he deserved it.

“I think you would make a great father, Tony,” she spoke. Once again, her voice fell quiet. “I think you have the capability to love like that. But you’re not ready. Not now.”

The sound of her heels clicking indicated that she had begun to walk away, but Tony didn’t notice until it was too late. He set himself up for the argument–– that he knew, but the wounds were still fresh. If he were honest, he still wasn’t sure why he had such an attachment to Peter in the first place. It was unlike Tony to find that connection within just a few moments. He believed he was tougher than iron, tougher than the emotions that crept under his skin. He chose how his life played out; it was how he wanted to be seen, and he didn’t mind any of it. And then some little boy came in, and Tony found himself wishing he could reverse it all. He thought about his future for the first time in over a decade.

A part of him saw Peter as an opportunity to better his actions. But another part of Tony saw himself in the kid. He saw the loss, he saw the strive for belonging, the strive for adventure and success–– he saw so much potential that he wanted to grasp ahold of and protect. Tony knew his status held an advantage. Peter could have grown up with opportunities so close within his reach.

Nevertheless, Tony couldn’t shake the selfish aspect. He had wanted Peter for his own benefit. Yet, now, it wasn’t about that. Tony truly cared about the kid. He would make sure nothing ever harmed him, not even a stupid case of pneumonia.

“JARVIS.”

_“Yes, sir?”_

Tony made his way toward the kitchen. “Double the support this month for the Parkers,” he said, prepping the espresso maker. He wouldn’t last the arms presentation without another cup or two. “And maybe throw in a cute gift basket. Anonymous, of course.”

_“Shall I send a bunny or teddy bear themed basket?”_

Tony hummed. “Fuck it. Send the bunny. The kid deserves it.”

_“Sir, I believe Miss Potts may have a point.”_

“Of course she has a point,” mumbled Tony. “It’s called common sense. And I’m not listening.” He pressed a few buttons, and the machine whirred. Espresso began to drip into a small cup.

_“Colonel Rhodes has arrived.”_

The door to the workshop opened before Tony could answer. Rhodey stopped in his tracks, standing proud in his uniform while his gaze narrowed on his friend.

“Do you _want_ me to look bad?” he asked, tucking a hand in his pocket.

“No, darling, you look very beautiful this morning,” replied Tony.

Rhodey’s expression barely twitched. “Not funny, Tony. You have an arms presentation in forty-five minutes, and you’re covered in–– _what is that?_”

Tony looked down. “Oil. Nothing a little dish soap can’t clean.”

“Dish soap,” said Rhodey as he slowly made his way over. “Jesus, Tony. Are you okay?”

“Sweet of you to ask.” Tony took a sip of the steaming espresso, although he hardly felt the heat against his tongue. It had already been burned from his first cup earlier that morning. “But, yes, I’m dandy.”

“Not according to Pepper.”

Tony frowned. “You talked to Pepper?”

Rhodey folded his arms. The frustration in his features had faded. “Care to enlighten me on what you might have said to her?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Tony––“

_“Rhodey.”_

“Why’d you keep it a secret for so long?” asked Rhodey. Suddenly, the matter of the arms presentation was hardly a cause for concern. “A whole ass _kid_, Tony? You have a whole ass _kid?_”

Tony turned away and placed his empty cup in the sink. He didn’t want to have the conversation twice in one day–– let alone a span of only five minutes. His stomach ached from the disappointment radiating off of his friend.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tony resisted the urge to laugh. “Dunno. Kinda fun to have a secret, I guess.”

“This isn’t a good secret, Tony,” said Rhodey. “If the press ever got word––"

“Which they _won’t_.” Tony patted his friend on the shoulder and grabbed the dry-cleaned suit from off of a table. “And I’m gonna make sure of that. Little kid’s got pneumonia. He doesn’t need to be rollin’ out of the hospital to a scene of reporters and flashy lights. His aunt would have me on a stick.”

“So, it’s really yours, then?” Rhodey kept his arms folded as the pair walked up the stairs. The sound of running water filled the empty space.

It also served as a reminder to Tony that those two espressos had gone right through him.

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

“What do you mean _maybe?_”

“I mean––” Tony tossed the bag over his shoulder. “––that it’s not exactly a––quote-unquote––confirmed thing. I signed the birth certificate.”

“And you never thought for one second that someone, maybe, forged your signature?” asked Rhodey. He continued to follow him outside.

“You lead the way, sugar bear,” Tony said, motioning to the cars parked on his driveway. “And, no, I didn’t because I don’t wanna.”

Rhodey frowned as he opened his car door. Meanwhile, Tony set a pair of sunglasses over his eyes.

“If you just met the kid, Rhodey,” continued Tony, “you’d understand. He lost his parents. I know a little of what that’s like. He’s spirited, he’s nice, he–– he made his own fucking _truck_, and––”

“Hold up, Tones.”

Tony unclenched his jaw.

“How many times have you met this kid?”

“Once.”

Rhodey furrowed his brow. “And you still care about him this much?”

“_Care_ is such a strong word––”

“Tony.”

Tony swallowed. He took a glance down at his shoes, and he tried to think of a million things to say. He always had a million things to say. But there were only certain words he chose to say. So, Tony spoke with as much heart as he could. “I don’t know anything about being a father. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. But Peter was–– shit, Rhodey, something about him was different. That’s just why I know.”

“Why you know...?”

“Why I know he’s my son.”

Rhodey nodded, and a small smile appeared slowly. “I believe you, Tony, I really do. But as much as I love this heart-to-heart, I got a few people that will be really pissed with me if you don’t get on that damn road in ten seconds.”

Tony held up his hands. “All right, _all right_. I’m getting in the car,” he said. There was a weight off of his shoulders, that he knew, but he wouldn’t admit he felt relief. He never admitted those kinds of things. Tony slid himself into the driver’s seat of his Audi.

Rhodey knocked on the window a moment later.

“Yes, honey?” asked Tony after rolling down the glass.

“You got a taillight out,” Rhodey said.

“Shit. That sucks.”

He laughed. “Yeah. Rough. And, one more thing.”

Tony lowered his sunglasses to get a better look at his friend.

“Peter would have been really lucky to have you as a dad.” 


	3. iron kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been a few years since Tony first met Peter. Iron Man is now a superhero, and the Stark Expo has brought an unexpected guest back into Tony's life.

** **2008.** **

Tony’s chest hurt.

The past few hours were black— pitch dark flashes of voices and nothing, _nothing, nothing. Why was there nothing?_ Tony could hear his heart in his ears, except it didn’t sound quite right. Nothing felt right. Men were shouting–– how many were there? Two, three, ten... he wasn’t sure.

All Tony did know was his cotton mouth and the unexplainable emptiness where his heart belonged. He didn’t know if he had a heart anymore. He didn’t know if he had ever had one to begin with. The world never seemed to think so.

He assumed this was death, that it felt this lonely and cold. The sudden sheen cast over every memory hardly compared to the thought. If he had died, he hadn’t left much behind. The legacy was his father’s. The name was his father’s. Everything Tony had was built upon the man who loved nothing and no one, not even his own son.

Tony thought about Peter. He had wanted to be better for him. He had wanted to give his child the world, and instead, Tony was stuck chasing footprints in the sand. He was certain Peter no longer remembered meeting him–– it had only been a few minutes of some random morning in Queens. Peter most likely hardly remembered his parents. Nevertheless, Tony thought about him every single day.

So, when the ache in his muscles became too much to bear–– when the truth came to light that Tony might not make it out alive, he didn’t take his defeat as an answer. He kept the image of Peter in his head, the little four-year-old boy who gave Tony his special truck for no reason at all. He kept the image of his school photos, the toothy smile that was Tony’s through-and-through, and Tony knew he had to be strong. For Peter.

Because there was no way Tony would allow himself to die before ever getting the chance to be a father to his own son.

** **2010.** **

The last bit of bile had left his throat.

Tony never expected this. He never expected the flashbacks–– the vivid reminders of the pain and torment, and the lack of certainty whether or not he would even make it out alive. He never expected the nausea and the stale taste on his tongue as the panic kept him awake at night. He was Tony Stark; he wasn’t supposed to behave this way. He kept a bottle of brandy beside the toilet for nights like this.

He knew it wasn’t an appropriate coping mechanism, not when the media had finished peeling back his layers to expose his negligence. Not when the media found a new savior in the arms of a broken billionaire. He had handled it fine at first. He knew the inner workings of the press, but Iron Man was something new. Something he had never expected.

The terrors woke him up from a rare sleep. His fingers ached from their tight grip against the toilet seat, and he had become numb to the retching drawn out by sickening memories. Tony didn’t want to forget what he had gone through–– he just wanted the side effects to go away.

The palladium in his chest burned with each cough. For a moment, Tony thought he was going to die there. He didn’t want to be found Elvis-style in the bathroom with his hands painted to porcelain. Tony had been in that position far too many times, yet he had just come from the ashes of captivity, and he didn’t want to die for nothing.

This wasn’t what he expected. It wasn’t what he wanted.

JARVIS’s voice soon filled the tiled room. _“Sir, would you like me to inform Miss Potts that you have fallen ill?”_

“Why––” Tony let out a wet cough. “––why on _earth _would I want that?”

_“In under twelve hours, you will be flying to New York for the opening of the Stark Exposition.”_

Tony rubbed at his temples, a groan leaving his lips while he tried to keep the world from spinning around him. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath. “Don’t–– don’t tell her anything. I’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.”

_“Very well, sir_,” the AI replied. _“You may also be happy to hear that Mister Parker will be in attendance.”_

“That’s great, J,” mumbled Tony. He pressed his face against the porcelain seat and took a breath. “Good for–– wait, I’m sorry.” He sat up straight. “You mean Peter?”

_“Yes, Peter Parker will be attending with his uncle.”_

Tony wiped at his mouth with a handful of toilet paper. “Well, you sure know how to boost morale, buddy. Let’s get this fucking show on the road then,” he said, but as he prepped himself to stand, another wave of nausea cut through his skull.

It followed Tony for the rest of the day.

Every step he took, and every bump of turbulence, sent his stomach swirling. Unfortunately for Tony, it was hard to keep Pepper in the dark for so long. He wound up losing half of his dinner on the plane, meanwhile, the Expo could be seen from a few thousand feet above.

“––I’m serious,” he said to her, “gimme a little space.”

Pepper hardened her gaze. “Get up.”

“I can’t go through with this–– I’m telling ya––”

“We don’t have time for this,” she said. His helmet was nestled beneath her arm. “We have to go.”

“Oh, God, you don’t wanna see that,” he groaned out as the toilet flushed. He stood without fail, but every nerve in his limbs hummed as he stepped toward her. He had been drinking to numb the panic, to numb the pain–– it was all his fault. “Where am I? Do I look weird?”

“Y-you look like you do every day,” she replied. “You look like you have a hangover.”

Tony’s knees wanted to buckle beneath his weight. He knew she was right (like always), but in his defense, he had more than just a hangover. He had the weight of the past six months creeping up his chest. He had the anxiety of the night, the toxins flowing through the palladium core, and the reality that in a matter of minutes, he would be occupying the same vicinity as his son. The son he hadn’t seen in five years.

“We are _over_ the drop zone,” Pepper said.

“_What?_”

It was like the past few minutes had slipped away. And with her so close to Tony, he knew he had the strength to follow through.

“Yes.” Her voice was curt and sharp.

He shivered at the sound. “Let’s do this, baby,” he whispered, a smirk growing on his cheeks as she followed close behind.

Tony struggled to remember the last time he felt nervous before a presentation, but he knew it wasn’t the stage fright that kept his hands trembling. It was his grip on Pepper’s arm and hers on his waist that reminded him of why he loved having her around so much. It was her. And it was Peter. He was doing all of this for Peter.

“You complete me,” Tony said to Pepper before his stomach lurched once more. The wind slipped through his hair, and the grin on his face never faltered. As awful as he felt, he had a million things to look forward to. Tony knew that he would have to make his last moments count.

__

“You said the kid was there, JARVIS?”

_“Do you mean Mister Parker, sir?”_

“Yeah.” Tony threw back a handful of kettle chips. The past twenty-four hours had been an intoxicated haze, except he was—for the most part—fairly sober. It was beginning to overwhelm him: the pain, the Expo, and the exuding reluctance of Capitol Hill. But the cherry on top had hit the minute he touched down on that stage. The adrenaline kick was fresh, coursing deep in his toxic bloodstream. All the while, out there in the crowd, Peter was somewhere. Peter was staring up at his stage, not even realizing that his father stood before him. Peter had gone there for him.

_“I am unable to verify that information,” _said JARVIS.

Tony crunched down, and through a mouthful of chips, he said, “and why the hell not?” The words sprayed dust onto the desk.

_“My facial recognition software could not locate Mister Parker.”_

Tony huffed.

_“I was, however, able to locate his uncle, Benjamin Parker.”_

“Show me the visuals,” Tony said. He leaned forward in his chair as the screens before him flashed security camera footage from night one. The definition was low, and the crowds were too thick. “Fast forward a bit and find me a full body shot. I wanna know if he has a kid with him.”

Tony watched the monitors with a familiar intensity. Desperation had buried itself deep within his brain, and it now followed him everywhere he went. He had become obsessed like everyone said he would. Obsessed with a superhero identity. Obsessed with the idea that one day he might get to be a father to his son, although the chances seemed slim. The fascination with fatherhood had been a mere concept that blossomed into years of hoping. Hoping for a few seconds in a day where he could meet him again.

That was why Tony searched every security camera he had installed at the Expo. The thought of Peter looking up to Iron Man––to_ Tony_––made him want to cry.

“Stop–– stop the video,” said Tony. “Rewind a few seconds.”

The footage stopped on a frame of Ben Parker outside of the Cordco pavilion. Beside him stood a small boy in an Iron Man mask. A boy who was yet to turn nine-years-old in only a matter of months. Tony couldn’t stop staring at the image.

“That’s Peter,” he mumbled. “Right?”

_“I believe so,” _JARVIS replied. _“Their heights both match up to 46.8 inches. He is short for his age.”_

Tony rested his hand under his chin. It wasn’t a “holy shit” moment in his book. It hadn’t made him swallow down disbelief while he pushed back the palladium pain. He could hardly keep his fingers still against the metal table below him. Meanwhile, his cheeks ached from the pressure of his smile. Tony couldn’t stop smiling.

He had always been proud of Peter. At only seven years old, the kid had won two science fairs and a spelling bee all within three months. And Tony wasn’t allowed to be in attendance for any of them. The thought of Peter looking up to him kept hope alive. Peter still knew who Tony was. Peter still admired Tony even if it wasn’t for being his father.

Tony’s face ached from smiling so hard.

_“Happy Hogan has arrived upstairs_.”

Tony clapped and stood up from the desk. “Thank you, J. Know anything about boxing?”

_“Not at all, sir_.”

“That’s okay,” Tony said. He took a sip from his bottle of chlorophyll. “I’ll figure it out. Close screens.”

_“Shall I save the footage of Mister Parker?”_

“Do you even need to ask?”

_“Apologies. I should have known better.”_

Tony chuckled. “There, there, buddy. No need to shed tears. Label the file under _Iron Kid._”

_“An excellent title, sir,” _JARVIS replied.

Tony grinned. “Thanks. Thought of it myself. Kill the lights now, J. You’re not paying the electric bills.”

___

Tony wasn’t able to take a moment to breathe. He was up in the air in minutes, chest splintering at the feeling of the new arc reactor in place. But the feeling was good. The immediate side effects had been drowned out by the wind rushing around his suit. Nevertheless, the thrill of living hardly crossed his mind. His repulsors sputtered beneath his hands as he flew over the New York state line.

“How are we on timing, JARVIS?” Tony asked through heavy breathing. He could see the lights from the Expo in the far distance. It was beautiful–– bright lights speckled against a black night, but he didn’t have the time to admire his creation.

_“Justin Hammer’s presentation has begun._

“Shit, _shit_,” muttered Tony as he dove low. He had become numb to his own anxiety, but he could never ignore the ache spreading beneath his ribs. There were times when he believed the shrapnel would loosen, times when he though his own design would fail and cause his immediate death. _Tony Stark found dead on a rooftop in Brooklyn_–– but was it really Tony? The impact of the fall alone would make his body unrecognizable.

Tony landed on the stage without hesitation, and the crowd erupted.

“We got trouble,” he said as he slung his arm around Rhodey.

“Tony, there are civilians present,” his friend replied. “I’m here on orders. Let’s not do this right now.”

But the words meant nothing to Tony at the moment. He had completely forgotten the fight. “Give them a wave.”

Justin let out a pitiful laugh. “Hey, all right. Yeah.”

“All these people are in danger,” Tony continued. _Pepper was in danger_. “We gotta get them out of here. You gotta trust me for the next five minutes.”

Rhodey tilted his head. “Yeah, I tried that,” he said. “I got tossed around your house, remember?”

“Listen, I think he’s working with Vanko,” Tony carried on, voice rushed as he thought about the potential outcome of the night.

“Vanko’s alive?”

Tony stepped toward Justin. “Where is he?

And Justin took a step back. “What?”

“Where’s Vanko?”

“Who?

_“Sir, Mister Parker is in the audience with his aunt and uncle.”_

Tony blinked. He thought his heart had stopped for a second. _Peter was in danger. _“Tell me,” Tony urged firmly.

But the terror unleashed before he could interrogate Justin any further. Rhodey’s words were panicked as his gun took aim at Tony, but the billionaire no longer thought about himself at that moment. This was a danger he could control.

“Let’s take it outside,” said Tony before he took off into the night. Rhodey trailed close behind.

Tony wasn’t sure what he was doing–– he never was. Rhodey’s suit no longer belonged to him, and now the other drones had taken to the crowds. The panic could be heard for miles. This was no longer a danger he could control. The sounds of screams and explosions crawled up his spine as he peered down at the chaos below. There were drones up his ass, and now there were drones firing at him from the ground.

Tony wanted to close his eyes and wish it all away.

_“Sir.”_

“What is it, JARVIS?” Tony breathed out. His stomach lurched as he flanked left.

_“Mister Parker is alone.”_

“What?” Tony swallowed. “Search for him. Fucking find him.”

_“He is outside of the main pavilion,” _said JARVIS.

Tony forced acceleration as he dove down, his sights immediately locking on a little boy in amongst the dwindling crowd. A plastic Iron Man mask was on his head, and he had raised his hand toward a drone before him. Tony wanted to scoop him up and take him far away. He wanted to make sure he would never be put in this kind of danger again.

But Tony believed that he didn’t deserve Peter. So, Tony landed and blasted the drone before it could get the chance to fire. The relief spread fast.

Tony took a glance at Peter. “Nice work, kid,” he said as the boy faced him. Tony took off a moment later despite the voices in his head telling him not to. Despite the desire to look Peter in the eyes and give him the biggest fucking hug he had ever given. Tony almost lost him. He almost lost him because of Peter’s bravery. Because Peter _looked up to Tony_.

It would have been his fault.

Tony chose not to wallow in it. His pride fueled his adrenaline. After the explosions calmed, after the man behind the curtain faded into the night, and after Tony finally got the chance to express how he felt to Pepper, he couldn’t ignore the one thing nagging at his brain. He had saved his son’s life. He kept his son alive, and it was all because he looked up to Tony–– to his own father, yet he didn’t even know it.

Tony was hopeful. He was proud. He was looking forward to the years to come.


	4. video diary #482

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been a few months since the Battle of New York. Tony leaves Peter a special message for his birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a short one !

** **2012.** **

“Hey, kid, happy birthday. God, you’re getting old. That means _I’m_ getting old. Which is fucking ridicu–– _shit_, I didn’t mean to swear. Sorry, kid. JARVIS, cut the tape. Start over. Take two.”

Tony took a breath and rubbed at his eyes with the backs of his hands. The time was 4:32 in the afternoon; he hadn’t slept for two days.

“Okay, it’s your birthday,” he began again, “and I won’t swear this time ‘round, promise. I’m not singing for ya, so don’t get your hopes up. Not that you’ll ever see this. Given that you _do_, happy eleventh to you, buckaroo.”

Tony let out a chuckle. He had been up for too long, and his fingers ached from clutching tools and sketching designs only to scrap them a moment later. This was what he deserved. He believed that he deserved to waste away in his workshop while slaving over Mark 27.

“Bet you’re wonderin’ what your old man is working on,” he continued. “Well, I can tell you right now, I’ve no fricking clue. God, it’s hot in here. Lower the heat, would ya, J-Man? Gamma’s paint job is gonna melt.” He motioned over to the finished green suit behind him.

Tony let out a sigh and cracked his wrist. A second later, he was leaning back down against the workbench to work on the gauntlet in front of him. Sparks emitted on contact.

“Oops, fuck–– well––” Tony took a step back. “Sorry, Pete. My bad. Hell, you’re eleven now. I’m sure you’ve heard swear words. Probably got time out because some kid at school told ya what the word _bitch_ meant.” Tony chuckled, but his smile quickly faltered. “I hope May and Ben have been treating you well. They–– they’re really great people. I don’t know if they’ve told you about me–– probably not. A part of me hopes they have, but another part wishes I could just tell you myself. I’m sure you wouldn’t believe me if I ever got the chance.”

DUM-E whirred, and the camera tilted in his grip.

“Just wish I could get t’know you,” Tony mumbled. “Cos’ the older you get, the less likely you’ll–– you know what? Forget it. Sorry. Moving on. You’ve got a good life, kiddo. Sure, it’s been hard–– life always is, but you’re smart. You’ll make it through. You’ve got those Stark genes in ya.”

Tony was silent again. No matter how many times he said it, and no matter how many years went by, it still remained surreal. Maybe he would have an easier time accepting the fact that Peter was his son if Tony actually had Peter in his life. Tony had so much pride when it came to Peter–– he just wished he was able to tell him face-to-face.

And it was possible that one day he would be able to. One day he would see Peter, adult Peter, and the years would slip away. But Tony wasn’t sure he would ever be able to make up for the lost time. He wasn’t sure he would ever get the chance to tell Peter what he meant to him.

So, he recorded video diaries. Peter’s 11th birthday was number 482.

Tony had already deleted at least half of them.

“JARVIS, play some music, would ya?” he asked into the air. Mötley Crüe soon echoed around the room. “You can’t let me get too sappy when I’m supposed t’be concentrating.” Tony looked directly at the camera. “You doing okay, kid? Doing good in school? Well, I guess you haven’t started yet. Heard it was canceled for at least a week after what happened in––”

Tony inhaled sharply and closed his eyes. He laughed at himself a moment later. It was still too fresh. He wasn’t able to think about New York––about the fucking _alien_ invasion––without his lungs shriveling around the reactor. The familiar panic had gnashed its ugly teeth in new ways he hadn’t experienced before. Tony couldn’t address the issue without falling into an asthmatic state. All he saw was black, all he heard was the failing phone call as the vast space engulfed him, and all he could feel was his soul slipping from his body as he fell from consciousness. But he hadn’t felt himself fall through the wormhole. The thing that kept him awake at night wasn’t the terror of the invasion or his will to sacrifice. It was the nature in which he had done it. He hadn’t been ready to die.

But now he was guilty that he had survived.

“Were you worried?” Tony breathed out, hands shakily finding the edge of the table to grasp hold of. “Probably didn’t understand much, huh? The government can’t hide that aliens are real anymore after that shitshow. I was worried about ya, of course, but I can’t go on about it or else I’ll get sappy again.”

Tony wondered if Peter had seen the footage of Iron Man falling from the sky. He wondered if the kid held his breath. But Tony pushed the thought aside.

“I always thought about making you a suit of your own one day,” he said, “although I think May would kill me. She still sends me Christmas cards every year, which––obviously––doesn’t mean much, but it’s the thought that counts. Of course, I wouldn’t make you a suit until you’re old enough. Sorry about that, bud. At least your old man is thinkin’ about ya.”

Tony pushed the unfinished gauntlet aside. He was always thinking about Peter, yet he couldn’t find the strength to say it.

_“I hate you interrupt your message to Mister Parker, sir––”_

“No worries. Interrupt away.”

_“It appears Peter has been sent home from summer camp.”_

Tony looked into the camera again. “What’s the problem now, kiddo?” he asked with a sigh. “You’re giving me wrinkles. Give it to me, J. What happened?”

_“I was able to trace the phone call from the director,” _said JARVIS. _“Mister Parker was in a fight with another camper.”_

Tony sat in silence for a moment. Peter went home from school a few times a month throughout the year. He was sick more often than not, and Tony had the nurse’s office phone number memorized by now. But Peter had never been sent home for getting in trouble. Not even at his summer camps, nor at his weekend science conventions. It was unlike Peter. He was the type to apologize to a pigeon if he ever looked at it funny.

“You’re serious, JARVIS?”

_“Unfortunately, sir.”_

Tony hummed. “Cut the–– cut the tape.” The red light on the camera turned off. “Who started the fight?”

_“They believe he did.”_

“P-Peter?” Tony sat down on the stool beside him. “They think that _Peter_ started the fight? Have they seen him? Like, seriously, have they seen his face?”

_“I do not have any other information, sir.”_

Tony set his hand on his forehead and leaned against the table. It was in moments like these where he wished he had asked to be involved in Peter’s life. Moments like these made him regret ever meeting the kid in the first place. He wished he could hear the story from Peter’s perspective. He wished he could sit his son down and talk through the situation. Tony wanted to tuck him in and tell him everything would be all right soon. Because even though he was _incredibly_ angry with Peter Parker, deep down, Tony was proud.

He knew Peter as well as he could. If the kid had started a fight, it was for a good reason only.

_“Miss Potts is on her way down.”_

“Hide all blueprints,” said Tony as he stood. “Pause the music. And DUM-E?”

The robot hummed.

Tony pointed two fingers at the arm. “Behave. I’m watching you.”

The door to the workshop opened a second later, and Pepper walked in with two take-out cups of coffee in her hands. She smiled at Tony, yet the smile fell once she noticed the myriad of suit parts scattered around the space.

“Seriously?” she asked.

“What?”

Pepper furrowed her brows. “It’s a mess in here, Tony.”

He shrugged and took the coffee from her. “It’s a controlled mess,” he replied, leaning in to peck her lips briefly. “Thanks for the coffee, hun. Oh, and bad news. Our boy got into a little scuffle today.”

“_Your _boy,” she said. “A scuffle? Seems unlikely.”

“I thought so, too.” Tony sat down at his desk and leaned back. He let out a sigh. “I just wish I could––I dunno––_do _something.”

Pepper’s lips pulled into a small frown as she peered down at him.

“I wanna have one of those father-son talks,” he continued. “The ones my own father never really gave a shit about. Obviously, I’d find an innocent reprimand, but I can’t really picture Pete getting a kick out of beating the shit outta people. He’s smaller than kids his age anyway.”

“He’s a good kid, Tony,” said Pepper. “He gets that from you.”

Tony huffed.

“I’m serious.” She ran her fingers through his hair, and he smiled up at her. “Peter looks up to you. He loves you. Maybe not how you would like him to, but he still does. It may not be enough–– I know, but it’s something. And one day, you’ll get to tell him everything you’ve been dying to for the past seven or so years.”

“Jesus,” mumbled Tony. “Don’t remind me it’s been that long.”

Pepper kissed his forehead. “Don’t forget it’s date night. I didn’t come home early to watch you tinker until your hands bleed.”

“My hands are fine––” He glanced down at the dirt caked under his fingernails. “––for the most part.”

She chuckled. “I’ll be upstairs,” she said, backing away. “Clean up.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“And, Tony?”

He hummed.

Pepper rested her cheek against the glass door. “Peter still sees you as his hero. Don’t forget that, okay?”

Tony nodded and allowed a smile. She was right, like always. He couldn’t have Peter as a son, but, in a way, Peter still had him. Tony was Peter’s hero. 


	5. crime-fighting spider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been over ten years since Tony first met Peter. Peter has more accomplishments than Tony originally counted on.

** **February 2015.** **

“Tony.”

“That’s my name,” he said. He was sitting on the carpet when she walked in. “What’s up?”

Pepper tilted her head. Her gaze was a familiar expression strictly reserved for Tony. “What the hell are you doing?” she asked, looking around at the mess of holograms scattered around the penthouse. She had her hands on her hips while she stared down at him from a few feet above.

“Pop a squat,” he instructed as he patted the floor.

She remained quiet.

“C’mon,” said Tony, urging her once again.

Pepper sighed, slid off her shoes, and sat on her knees beside him. “What is this?” she wondered. Curiosity filled her tone, and a soft blue light cast against her skin from the holograms below.

“Map of Midtown School of Science and Technology,” Tony replied. He had a smile on his face, the kind of smile a proud father wore.

“I don’t understand.”

Tony raised a different hologram up in the air. Projected before them was a lengthy acceptance letter addressed to none other than Peter Benjamin Parker. The grin on Tony’s face only grew.

Pepper nodded, and she smiled, too. “He got in,” she said.

“Hell yeah, he did,” Tony chuckled. The acceptance letter disappeared. “I’ve just been checking out the school. Made a wireframe of the layout. That’s the cafeteria over there––” He pointed over by the couch. “––and woodshop’s over here––” He pointed to a room beside Pepper’s knee. “Nice school. Lots of chem labs.”

“Tony,” Pepper whispered, resting her hand on his. “This is wonderful. I’m just––”

“Worried I’ve gone too far?”

She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’m just sorry you can’t be there to experience this with him.”

His expression twisted as he digested her words. “Yeah, well. Life’s not perfect.”

“I think you should talk to his aunt.”

Tony laughed. It wasn’t that he found Pepper’s statement funny. It wasn’t that he thought she was wrong. But he hadn’t expected her, of all people, to say those words. She had never encouraged his behavior this way, not when it came to Peter. She had never bothered discussing it with Tony as the years went by, but he always knew she never approved. Now, he didn’t know.

“She stopped sending me Christmas cards years ago,” Tony said.

“I’m sure they stopped _making_ Christmas cards years ago.” Pepper stood and pressed a hand to his shoulder. “It’s been ten years, Tony. Peter is almost in high school. I think you should talk to her.”

Tony glanced down at the holographic map. He let the colors burn into his brain before minimizing the framework and hiding it all away completely. “Maybe you could talk to her,” he said to Pepper, twisting around to face her. “I think you and May would get along. She _hates_ me, or at least she did, but I can’t imagine her mind has changed all that much. Especially after––”

“Tony.” Pepper folded her arms and raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Miss Potts?”

“Talk to her,” she said, walking away. “Or no ice cream tonight.”

Tony cracked a smile and called out, “I’m lactose intolerant!”

He sighed once she left the room. It had been ten years since he found out Peter was his son. Five years since Tony finally saw Peter despite the masks in between. Tony wasn’t quite sure how to keep up to date after that. Once the Christmas cards stopped, he felt separated. He felt like he was no longer a part of something–– felt like he no longer had a son. Tony stretched his knees and pulled up the acceptance letter once again.

As he smiled, he thought about Pepper’s words. He thought about possible outcomes and the conversations he’d share with May. He thought about getting to hug his son and spoil him to make up for lost time. Tony’s smile quickly faltered.

He still believed that he didn’t deserve Peter. He believed that he had waited too long.

___

** **December 2015.** **

Peter woke up grumpy that morning, eyes swollen and sore while the snow outside pattered against his window. His limbs felt heavy as he tossed and turned, and from somewhere in the small apartment, May was talking loudly on the phone. Peter let out a groan before throwing the covers off of his body. His muscles still ached, and loud noises still pierced his skull. Not much had changed within the past few weeks.

Peter’s bedroom door splintered beneath his touch. It all had become too surreal, too unfathomable for the fourteen-year-old to comprehend. He used to wind his way through the halls at school, shoulders slumped to make himself look smaller in and amongst the crowd. He used to hide behind the heads of classmates with the hope that his teachers would forget about him. Now, Peter was confident in his new abilities. He lifted a car yesterday. He struggled, of course, but that wasn’t the point. He had lifted a _car_.

Nevertheless, he still hid behind his anxiety and reputation. His enhanced state didn’t mean he had the right to cheat his way through life.

Peter had gotten himself ready for school in under fifteen minutes. May hardly uttered a word as he passed her in the kitchen. She gave him a smile, but her red eyes said enough. They never tell you what happens after someone dies, that Peter now knew. The government had drowned May in phone calls and documents, and all she wanted to do was mourn. All she wanted was to be with Peter and to hope things would get better soon.

“Love you, May,” he said to her on his way out. He was running late.

Peter arrived at school once first period started. Eyes cut beneath his skin as he stumbled through the door, yet the teacher said nothing. The entire staff at Midtown had received word of Ben Parker’s passing–– none of them blamed Peter for his absence or tardiness. He just knew that he couldn’t take it for granted for much longer.

“I got them.”

“What?”

Ned sat his lunch tray down on the table before them. “I got the tickets.”

Peter raised a brow.

“To see _The Force Awakens!_” Ned exclaimed. “Duh. Dunno how you could’ve possibly forgotten.”

“Sorry,” mumbled Peter. He tugged the sleeves of his sweater over his hands. “Got a lot goin’ on.”

Ned frowned. He was never one for sympathy, but he always knew how to brighten the mood somehow. Whether it was a poorly timed comment or unrelated joke, it always made Peter forget. “Wanna come over after school to work on homework? Or, we can re-watch the other trilogies if you want. Or, we can––”

“I can’t,” Peter interrupted. “Not today. Sorry, man.”

Ned nodded. He always seemed to understand, even if Peter believed that he shouldn’t. “Did May ever figure out who sent the flowers?”

Peter shook his head. “No. It didn’t come with a note or anything. Just a big ass bouquet.”

“It had to have cost at least four hundred dollars,” Ned said. “The vase was diamond-encrusted.”

“May threw it out,” Peter muttered. “She was pissed. Dunno why.” He chewed lamely on a burnt French fry. “I think she thought it was rude of them not to leave a note.”

Ned hummed. “I guess that makes sense. My mom asked me to invite you and May over for dinner this weekend if you wanna join. She’s making pot roast, but she said she’s open to other possibilities.”

“Pot roast sounds great,” said Peter. He couldn’t force himself to smile. “’m sure May will love that. Thanks.”

Ned smiled and dug into his food, meanwhile, Peter fought back nausea. He didn’t think he would ever be able to eat again. He didn’t know how to live like he used to. He didn’t want to do anything unless Ben was right there with him.

___

Peter’s breath was staggered as he ran along the rooftops. He followed the screams for blocks, watching as pedestrians dodged the runaway vehicle. It wasn’t stopping, no matter how many cars it licked along the avenue. Peter’s agility only took him so far, so he leaped and let his webbing lead the way. His stomach flipped as he swung from building to building, and people looked on.

He hadn’t gotten used to the feeling yet, nor the intricate maneuvers he strived to follow upon while he soared through the air. His web-shooters rattled as he swung, and the sweatpants he wore were a tad bit too tight. It wasn’t a summertime suit–– that was for sure, but Peter wasn’t going to worry about that right now.

The out-of-control van was headed for a red light. And Peter was growing tired.

“Shit, shit,” he sputtered out, tightening his grip around the webbing. Sweat was building in far too many places to count.

_He wasn’t gonna make it. He wasn’t gonna make it._

Peter ran along the side of a building for a brief moment, but he didn’t have the time to wallow in shock. He swung one last time and threw himself down toward the car. If he had lifted a car once, maybe he could stop one, too.

Peter slipped in between the vehicle and an oncoming bus. The runaway car had been going 40 mph, and he caught all 3,000 pounds of it. Without thinking twice, he shot a web at an adjacent building and swung away.

His hands were numb as he plopped himself down on the concrete roof. Snow had begun to fall, but Peter couldn’t feel the chill in the air. The adrenaline ran hot, and he couldn’t stop smiling. He couldn’t stop replaying the few seconds in his mind. He had saved lives only moments prior. Peter Parker, the kid with asthma who couldn’t tie his shoelaces until he was eight, had saved _lives_. He had superpowers. _He had superpowers_.

He wanted to think that made him a hero. He wanted to think that made him an Avenger. But he wasn’t Captain America or Thor. He wasn’t Iron Man.

Peter shivered, and he started to laugh. He hadn’t smiled like that since before Ben died. Since before Peter realized that he had to do something with the new DNA coursing through his bloodstream. He now had the chance to be just like _his _heroes. He now had the chance to be like Captain America or Thor.

Well, that was debatable, but he knew one thing for sure––

Peter had the chance to be like Iron Man.

___

** **June 2016.** **

Tony hadn’t amended his poor sleeping habits. At four in the morning, his workshop came alive. Holographic news reports and videos filled the air around him as he sketched out his newest idea. He felt a bit sick to his stomach, and he knew why, but he couldn’t shake the feeling from his bones. There was something oddly thrilling about creating a suit specifically designed for his son.

Spider-Man went viral, and Tony didn’t question it at first. Superhumans were the new normal it seemed, especially with Wanda having joined the team not too long ago. Nothing surprised him anymore, and then FRIDAY had to show him the goddamn security footage. Footage of Spider-Man taking his mask off outside of a gas station bathroom. The kid was smart, but sometimes he was an idiot.

Tony didn’t speak to anyone that entire day. No one really knew about Peter, and with the Accords occupying the minds of his fellow colleagues, it was hard to break it down for anyone. Tony shut himself off in his workshop and thought about every negative outcome to come from Spider-Man. Tony wanted to cry.

He always knew his son looked up to Iron Man. He had never expected his son to become a hero himself.

The fourteen-year-old struggled to pass gym class, and now he was hoisting cars off of buses and swinging away as if it were nothing at all. Something had happened to the Peter he knew. And, as frightened as Tony was, he also knew there was pride down in his soul somewhere. His kid had grown up to be a little like his father; Tony had every right to be proud.

It stuck in his mind like chewed up gum. He had a million reasons to recruit the kid. He had a million reasons to finally talk to his own son. He also had a million reasons to furthermore quit the Avengers and retire upstate somewhere.

But Peter came first.

Tony spent an entire weekend in his workshop. And when the suit was finished–– when he finally realized what the _hell_ he was doing, he didn’t hold back. Tony wasn’t going to turn away and live another moment without having Peter in his life. If Tony was lucky, then Peter would jump on the opportunity to spend a little time with Iron Man himself.

Tony didn’t have anyone to ration with him when he fled to Queens after the Winter hell broke loose. Tony didn’t have anyone to tell him that approaching Peter with a battle this bizarre was a totally awful idea.

At three o’clock on the dot, he paced on the sidewalk outside of some rickety apartment building in New York. His loafers were scuffed, and his eye throbbed and ached. Meanwhile, Peter Parker was making his way down the street with a broken DVD player in hand.

When his eyes met Tony’s, it seemed as though time stopped.

“Aren’t you–– you’re–– hey, you’re, uh––” Peter swallowed. “You’re Tony Stark.”

Tony grinned. His heart felt complete. “Nice to meet you, Mister Parker.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if the ending feels a bit anti-climactic, it was partially intentional! we’ve all seen civil war and how rushed the time frame is for tony to meet peter. the sappy stuff will come soon!


	6. a little father-son bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony recruits Peter as Spider-Man on a whim. It's all bound to backfire eventually, right?

** **June 2016.** **

“You’re Tony Stark.”

The older man grinned. “Nice to meet you, Mister Parker.”

“Hi, uh––” Peter’s mouth went dry. If he blinked, he feared that Tony would disappear. “What’re you–– uh, how do you know who I–– who I am?” Peter winced at the sound of his own voice stuttering and cracking. The bulky metal of the DVD player was hot beneath his grip.

“Lucky guess,” Tony said. His smile looked like it ached. It stretched wider, and the crinkles by his eyes accompanied it soon after. He shook his head––Peter wasn’t sure why––and set a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You got a minute?”

Peter nodded. “Y-yeah.”

Tony draped his arm around Peter as they slowly walked away from his building. There was something in the silence, an indefinite unspoken twist that Peter wasn’t ready for, and he still couldn’t quite grasp the situation. He kept glancing over at Tony to make sure it was really him. Peter had done nothing to gain the billionaire’s attention.

But Spider-Man had.

Tony’s arm fell back to his side as he stopped in front of a black car. It was too pristine, too pretty for Peter to even lay eyes on. Tony opened the passenger door.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’m not gonna kidnap you.”

Peter bit down on his cheek and slid into the seat. A moment later, Tony was sat behind the steering wheel. A sense of panic had climbed into Peter’s chest. He had thought the possibilities of this conversation for six months. He thought about what he would say and what he wouldn’t. And now, he could hardly speak without tripping over his tongue.

“Did I–– did I do something? I haven’t––”

“Nah ah, me first,” said Tony. “Quick question of the rhetorical variety––” He held up a device far more advanced than Peter had seen, and a video of Spider-Man was projected into the air. “That’s _you_, right?”

Peter shifted in his chair. This was a moment he had wanted for as long as he could remember. So, why the hell did he feel sick to his stomach? “Um, no. What do you–– what do you mean?”

Tony shoved the device into a pocket inside of his jacket. “Listen, kiddo, I don’t got a lot of time. I’m in a bit of a time crunch here, and I’m not really in the mood for this witty, back-n’-forth kind of detail, all right?” He let out a shaky sigh and pressed two fingers between his eyebrows. “Sorry, Jesus, I’m being... _ridiculously_ unreasonable. Are you the Spiderling? Crime-fighting-spider? Spider-Boy? Yes? No? Gotta gimme something here.”

Peter swallowed while glancing down at his hands in his lap. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to hold back. He wanted to deny it all and forget about the conversation. But it was _Tony Stark. _He always knew more than anyone else did.

“Spider-Man,” Peter mumbled.

Tony nodded. “Not in that onesie, you’re not.”

“It’s not a onesie,” Peter said, his response sharp. “I don’t believe this. I was actually having a really good day today, y’know, Mister Stark. Didn’t miss my train, this perfectly good DVD player was just sittin’ there, and... Algebra test. Nailed it.” He tapped his fingers against the metal pressed to his chest and hugged it tighter. When Peter glanced over, Tony was frowning.

“Who else knows?” the older man asked. “Anybody?”

“Nobody.”

“Not even your...” Tony paused. “...unusually attractive aunt?”

Peter tightened his grip on the DVD player. “No. No, no, no, no. If she knew, she would freak out. And when she freaks out, I freak out.”

Tony nodded. “So, how you doin’ all this stuff? Climbing the walls. How you doin’ that?”

“It’s a long story, uh––”

"And what about those goggles?” the man continued. He was in his own world; he wasn’t even looking at Peter. “Can you even see in those?”

“Yes, _yes_,” muttered Peter. “I can see in those. Okay? It’s just that when whatever happened, happened, it’s like my senses have been dialed to eleven.”

Tony frowned again, and his face contorted in concentration.

“There’s way too much input.” Peter shrugged. “They just kinda help me focus.”

Tony tapped the steering wheel and twisted his body toward Peter. A smirk toyed on his lips. Tony’s presence was overwhelming, the kind Peter knew he would never get used to. He even smelled expensive.

“You’re in dire need of an upgrade,” said Tony. “Systemic. Top-to-bottom. 100-point restoration. Lucky for you, I got that covered. You got a passport?”

“I don’t even have a driver’s license.”

“You ever been to Germany?” Tony’s words practically melted together as he spoke.

“No.”

“Oh, you’ll love it.”

Peter furrowed his eyebrows. “I can’t go to Germany.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I got... homework.”

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” said Tony. He opened the door and exited the car before Peter could answer.

Peter followed him out of the car. “I’m being serious,” he continued with a little force in his tone. He was honored, truly. But was Peter ready to take on whatever Tony had to offer? Was Peter ready to be an Avenger? “I can’t just drop out of school.”

“Might be a little dangerous.” Tony checked his watch. “Better tell Aunt Hottie you’re staying with a friend this weekend, so she doesn’t––”

Peter’s heart flew to his throat as he aimed down at the billionaire’s shoes. A string of web followed and stuck around the loafers. For a moment, he thought Tony was going to lash out. His jaw clenched while he stared down at the webbing around his shoes. But then he looked up, and a small smile grew on his cheeks.

“All right, Spider-Man,” Tony said before glancing down back at his shoes. “Get me the fuck outta this.”

___

Tony knew he hadn’t thought a single thing through. The moment the kid––_his_ kid––swung in on the battlefield, Tony wasn’t sure what to think. Had he done the right thing? Had he done the wrong thing? The whole fight was volatile, and Peter, in his fourteen-year-old manner, didn’t quite understand the intensity of what was happening. Nevertheless, a newfound confidence shined through, and Tony had to hold back the waterworks. This wasn’t the Peter he had watched for the past ten years. It was a new Peter. _His_ Peter.

Tony was finally with Peter.

It remained surreal during those thirty-six hours. The whole reuniting-father-son thing wasn’t on the forefront of his mind, no matter how badly he wanted it to be. Tony was seeing the family he had made for himself fall apart at the seams, meanwhile, the family he had always wanted stood right by his side without even knowing how much he meant.

Just hearing Peter’s voice over the comms reminded Tony that things would be okay. Peter was a kid–– he spoke like it, but he had more knowledge in that brain of his than any normal teenager did. Tony convinced himself it was all because of him, that he was the reason Peter was so smart. But, if Tony were honest (despite not wanting to be), he had no hand in Peter’s intellectual development.

Tony kept an eye on the kid during the battle, his heart racing every time Peter dodged a punch. Tony could hear everything. Every word the kid said. He talked too much, but then again, he was Tony’s kid through and through.

And then, his kid was sent flying through a pile of boxes, and Tony thought his heart stopped.

Peter was curled up, his limbs limp and suit askew while a new feeling washed over Tony. He had made a mistake, a real big fucking mistake, and now his _son_ was injured––possibly even _dead––_from his own indiscretion. He had waited ten years to spend a little time with Peter, and he had _killed _him.

“Kid, you all right?” Tony asked, frantically rushing over to check in. To make sure his brain had simply jumped to conclusions.

And Peter lashed out. Arms flying, legs kicking, all the while screaming “get off me!” as Tony tugged at the younger boy’s wrists. Seeing the panic over Peter’s half-exposed features made Tony’s stomach twist. Even when the relief spread through, the knots grew thicker. He had recruited his own son to fight his battles for him. What was Tony _thinking?_

“You’re done,” he said, keeping his tone firm. Aunt May was going to kill both of them. “All right?”

Peter had gotten the wind knocked out of him. He kept blinking, kept letting out heavy breaths while a mess of words left his lips. “What? I’m good. I’m fine.”

“Stay down.”

“No, it’s good––” Peter lifted his torso, but Tony pushed him down. “I gotta get him back!”

“You’re going home, or I’ll call Aunt May,” Tony spoke hastily, not even caring to look down once Peter called him _dude_. “You’re done.”

Tony walked away before he could hold himself back. And he wanted to. He wanted to forget about the fight, to forget about all of the stressors infiltrating his brain. He had brought his _son_ into a fight. He had risked his own son’s life because he acted on a whim––– because he wanted to finally meet the person Peter had become. Tony didn’t want to say goodbye, but he knew that he couldn’t loll around much longer. He knew that if he took one more glance at his exasperated son, he would leave Germany with Peter in tow and never turn back. Tony would let his entire career as Iron Man waste away if it meant saving Peter’s life.

Tony was never going to act rash again–– not like that.

“He’s a good kid,” Happy told Tony at the airport back in New York. “Annoying, but he’s good.”

Any mention of Peter brought a smile onto Tony’s face. Peter was out of the bathroom a moment later, his backpack hanging loose off of one shoulder while a duffle was strapped around the other. Jet leg was written all over his features, but the fight had packed a punch as well, leaving Peter with one swelling eye and a sore ankle. Miraculously, however, he hardly wore a scratch.

“Mis’er Stark,” he mumbled with a sniff at the end. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“Helping Hap take ya back,” Tony answered. “_And_, Mister Parker, I thought you looked like you needed company. Let’s get your stuff in the trunk.”

Tony didn’t know what to say on the drive back. He wasn’t going to confess that he was Peter’s father, or that he spent the past ten years bending over backward just to check in on the kid. Peter had already been dragged into one of Tony’s messes–– ten years' worth of information would be too much to unveil to someone who got his ass beat by Captain America. Or, a seventy-foot giant man for that matter.

So, instead of mentioning every single thought in his head, Tony remained quiet. Peter pulled out his phone and recorded a video, meanwhile, Tony wasn’t sure where the timeline was headed next. He was just happy to finally be with his kid. Happy to have a little bit of family in the shitshow he was a part of. Even if the situation was less than ideal, Tony still had Peter in his life.

“Hey, between you and me––” Tony leaned over to Peter. “Was Happy snoring a bunch? He gets a lil stuffy during overseas flights, so––”

The car screeched to a stop.

“All right,” said Happy. “Here we are. End of the line.”

“Happy, can you give us a moment?” Tony asked.

“You want me to leave the car?”

Tony avoided Peter’s gaze. “Why don’t you grab Peter’s case out of the trunk?”

The cell phone lowered in Peter’s grip. His eyes widened, and his jaw slackened; he looked like he had looked directly at a ghost. “I can keep the suit?”

“Yes,” said Tony, “we were just talking about it.” He set his sunglasses back over his eyes and cleared his throat. His eyes watered at the thought of saying goodbye to Peter, but he would never truly admit it. There was a heaviness settling against his windpipe. “Do me a favor, though. Happy’s kind of your point-guy on this. Don’t stress him out. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ve seen his cardiogram. All right?”

Peter nodded. “Yes.”

“Don’t do anything I would do, and definitely don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” continued Tony. “There’s a–– there’s a little gray area in there, and that’s where you operate.” He wasn’t quite sure of the words he was saying, but he blamed the past seventy-two hours for his lack of emotion. He was bound to break soon.

“Wait, does that mean that I’m an Avenger?”

Tony swallowed. Peter, an Avenger. Father and son, fighting crime together. Tony wanted to laugh at the thought, but it warmed his heart. Nonetheless, he replied, “no.”

Because Tony knew if he said yes, it would be a false promise. He wasn’t going to put his own kid at risk like that again, but he wanted to show Peter he trusted him. The suit did just that. Something came over Tony when Peter frowned. It was the first real moment where Tony realized he let the kid down. So, he reached out, slinging an arm around, and Peter replied to the hug.

But, Tony being Tony, reached for the door handle instead. “It’s not a hug,” he said. “I’m just grabbing the door for you. We’re not there yet.”

_We’re not there yet_. He bit his tongue as Peter awkwardly climbed out of the car. Tony wished he had kept his mouth shut. _We’re not there yet_. Tony spent ten years wishing he _was_ there. He didn’t know why he said it in the first place. He didn’t know why he was trying to deny the past ten years.

Tony realized––once he glanced back at Peter as Happy drove away––that he was afraid. He was afraid to be the father he always wanted to be. The reunion hadn’t met his expectations. He hadn’t wanted to mix Peter up with that kind of danger. And now, Tony had dug himself into a deep hole. It was all an accident, a big mistake, but there were positives that he could look forward to.

Peter was in Tony’s life now. Peter was adorning his suit. Peter was saving lives, just like his father had been striving to do for the past eight or so years. Peter was happy and excited, and that made Tony excited, too. He promised himself that he wouldn’t fuck it up.

But even Tony knew his promises were a lost cause. 


	7. the "stark internship"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has been under Tony's wing for a few months now. And then May finds out.

**September 2016.**

“Hey Happy, it’s Peter.”

The wind had picked up as the sun set in the distance. Peter’s arm burned after every gust, but the blood from the recent flesh wound had dried over an hour ago. He didn’t overthink it, however, especially since the cut would most likely heal by the next morning. Peter was running off of a high, one that kept him from thinking about the possibility of an infection taking over. He dangled his feet over the ledge of a rooftop. 

“Not much to report,” he continued. “Sorry, I’m calling so late. I got into a knife fight earlier, and I got so hungry afterward that I had to stop for a sandwich. I webbed the guy up, but I accidentally left the knife, so I think he might’ve escaped anyway. Got a few good punches in. I mean, he got a few slices in, too. But good news, though, I didn’t get stabbed. Don’t–– don’t tell that to Mister Stark.” 

Peter had to slip his mask off after that. Too much sweat had accumulated, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Plus, it was far too inconvenient to talk on a phone with the cloth muffling his words. Not that he was necessarily  _ on _ the phone with Happy–– he wondered if the man even bothered listening to every voicemail Peter sent. 

“I think May might have some sewing needles though, so I can sew the arm right back up,” Peter said. “And, um, yeah–– that’s pretty much it. I mean, some kids were loitering outside of a building that said  _ no loitering _ , but I don’t really have the jurisdiction to make them leave. They looked kinda innocent anyway. Jus’ skateboardin’ around and such.”

Peter sighed and looked over toward the horizon. He could only see a light haze by this point–– it was far too late for Peter to be out, especially on a school night. 

“If you hear anything about a new mission, just lemme know,” he mumbled. “I’ll be here. Yeah, uh, call me back. I-If you can. It’s Peter. Parker.”

Peter jostled his cracked phone back and forth between his gloved hands. That was the last message he would leave, he swore to himself, although he knew that wasn’t true. He liked talking about his adventures as Spider-Man, no matter how small or insignificant. He still believed that Tony saw a lot in him, just like he had seen back in June. Back when Peter wasn’t even sure this was what he wanted. 

Now, Peter had more confidence than he deserved. He needed the jumpstart in Germany. He needed Tony’s suit to assure him that  _ this _ was what Peter was meant to do. Even after the few months since then, Peter still wondered what the hell Tony saw in him. There had to have been more to the story than he was letting off. 

Peter winced as another gust of wind hit his wounded arm. Meanwhile, a phone call from May was coming through. It was the third since the knife fight happened. Peter let it go before he swung off of the building and down toward the street below. He would see her shortly anyway–– he didn’t need to talk and swing. She would just worry that his asthma was acting up, and he didn’t have the heart to tell her his asthma had improved since last December. He didn’t even think he had it anymore.

It took him a few minutes to get home, and he crawled into his room without a sound. It was after he changed into comfortable clothes––a long sleeve and some torn pair of jeans––when his phone began to ring. Once again, it was May. So, he opened his bedroom door and called out, “I’m here, May!” He didn’t realize what that would do. 

Peter blinked, and suddenly May was rushing over and pulling him into a hug. “You okay, May?” he asked her, hesitantly hugging her in return. He tried not to seeth through the pain of his skin stretching around the knife wound.

When she retracted, concern mixed with anger seeped through her expression. “You can’t–– you can’t not answer your phone like that, Peter. I thought you were with Ned, and then he stopped by and asked for you, and––”

“I’m okay.”

She shook her head. “Where–– where were you? You said you go to Ned’s after school every day. Where  _ were  _ you?” Her eyes watered, but she quickly blinked the tears away. “I just kept hearing siren after siren, and I couldn’t stop thinking that maybe you were––”

“May,  _ May. _ ” Peter forced a smile. He didn’t have an alibi. He didn’t know what to say. Not when Ned had always been his excuse. “I’m sorry. I’m okay.”

“I don’t want you to feel like you can’t trust me, Peter,” she said, letting out a breath. “I don’t need to know where you are at all times of the day. But, you can’t just  _ disappear  _ and not tell me that you’re at least  _ okay _ , and––”

“I-I wanted to surprise you,” Peter sputtered out. “I just didn’t know how I was gonna tell you.”

“Surprise me?” 

Peter nodded. He had planned out this conversation before, just in case the stories didn’t quite align. He knew that the backup excuse was less than believable, but it was the only thing he had left. “Remember when I told you about the September Foundation grant? When I applied for it?”

May furrowed her brows. 

“I got it,” Peter said. “I’ve been, uh–– I’m interning with Mis–– with Tony Stark.”

She blinked, mouth falling open slightly while she crossed her arms over her chest. And she stayed silent. No hint of enthusiasm, no  _ congratulations, Peter!.  _ It was obvious she didn’t believe him. Or, she was just in shock. Naturally, he hoped it was the latter. 

“We got caught up t’night,” Peter continued. “The trains were delayed, and since I was underground I couldn’t call you back, and–– well, here, I have a selfie if you don’t––”

May smiled. “Peter, that’s so great. This is so exciting. But, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Honestly––” Peter shrugged. “––I kinda forgot you didn’t know.” 

“Peter.” She placed her hands on his arms as her smile grew. The excitement was identifiable by now, so much so that it kind of scared him. “This is fantastic. I’m–– wow, I’m so proud of you. I mean, you’re incredibly smart, so I’m not shocked, but… wow.” May chuckled. “Well, congratulations.”

“Thank–– thank you,” replied Peter. He was frozen in place, partially because her hand was pressed directly onto his cut. 

“But, no secrets now,” she said. “All right? You can’t hide news like that from me.”

“No secrets,” Peter said with a grin. “Promise.” He held up his pinky.

May returned his gesture, tying her own finger around his before backing away. “Hey, House of Thai is open until eight. Let’s get a move on so we can celebrate.”

Peter managed a sigh once she was out of sight. His hand brushed over the wound on his arm as he thought about possible stories to tell. He knew she would ask about the internship, what he worked on and what Tony allowed him to do. She was going to ask about every little detail, and he would answer as much as he could. 

_ “Oh, Tony, he’s–– he’s great, yeah. Sarcastic and witty just like you expect him to be. And Happy, well–– his name doesn’t really make sense, and he’s kinda hard to get in touch with. But, yeah, it’s really good. I’ve had a good time. I think it’s where I belong.” _

That was where Peter felt unsure of himself. He had been Spider-Man for going on nine months. Nine months of trying to prove himself to no one but his own brain. Nine months of wondering if he was meant to be where he was. Because he was just Peter. He wasn’t special. At least, he didn’t think he was. 

Peter tugged a sweatshirt over his head and turned off the light to his bedroom. He took a breath, tied his shoes, and fixed the facade that kept him humble. Peter had forced the lie too far, and he had no idea how to dig himself out. 

___

May’s voice carried through the door. 

Peter nearly drowned that night, but for the first time since late June, he finally got the chance to speak to Tony again. Even if it was for a reprimand of sorts. Even if Tony wasn’t there. Even if it had ended with Peter feeling unworthy of his stupid red suit. Tony still went out of his way for Peter somehow. Tony, in all honesty, had acted like a dad. 

Peter wasn’t sure how he felt about it. 

He made his way home without updating May on his whereabouts. Without telling her that he had left the party early. He climbed up the fire escape and crawled into bed all because he really didn’t want to talk to anyone after what happened. Not even Happy. Not even Tony. Peter wasn’t good enough for Tony. 

And then May’s voice drowned all of those thoughts out. Peter watched the shadows of her feet from under his bedroom door. She didn’t speak on the phone much, but when she did, it was never this loud. It was never this full of agitation. Peter, being curious-by-nature, sunk down into the carpet beside the door and pressed his ear against the crack. He wished he had started listening earlier. 

“––not unreasonable,” she said firmly. “We appreciated your help–– we  _ did _ . And I know–– no, he’s not home. He’s staying the night at a friend’s––yes, they were at a party. You–– why did you speak with him tonight?”

Peter knotted his brows. Was she talking about him?

“No, I’m not––” May continued. “No, yes, I am frustrated. Why? Why am I frustrated? Tony, I’m not mad that you wanna be a part of his life––”

Peter sat up and nestled closer to the door. 

“I’m mad that you couldn’t even be bothered to tell me.” Her voice softened as she spoke, making it harder for Peter to understand. “Yeah––y _ es _ ––no, you should have just asked! I don’t hold grudges. I’ll talk the fault for not reaching out to you, but––no, Tony, if you wanted to speak to your son so badly, I would have let you.”

Peter tucked his knees against his chest. His heart stammered, and his mouth had gone dry. 

“Peter’s fifteen now,” she said. “He can decide things for himself. And I won’t be the one––no, Tony, I’m not just gonna tell him that! Do you have any idea what that will do to him? I know I should have told him years ago, but––I’m sorry. I know. He deserves to know. But sneaking around like that? The internship will be good for him, but I honestly can’t believe you didn’t even–– stop it, Tony, he looks up to you. You don’t need me to tell you that. You––no,  _ Tony _ . If you just––okay, fine, I’m done talking about this.  _ Grey’s Anatomy _ is on TV. Goodnight, Tony.” 

Peter could hear May sigh through the thin walls. He didn’t want to uncurl his limbs. They stuck to his body like they had frozen over. He didn’t want to move, but he knew he couldn’t go to sleep after witnessing whatever  _ that _ was. After a moment, Peter stood and opened the door slowly. It creaked and whined, but not loud enough.

“May,” he said, voice wavering as he stepped into the living room.

She had been sitting on the couch,  _ Grey’s Anatomy _ on the TV like she said it would be. Her head whipped around to face him. “Peter,” she said. “When did you get home? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” She leaned herself against the back of the couch, and she looked as if the past few minutes hadn’t just happened. She looked completely  _ un _ -guilty. 

He wanted to cry, in fact, he  _ was  _ about to cry. His hands trembled, so he stuffed them in the sleeves of his jacket. “Who was that on the phone?” he asked quietly. 

She stared at him. “Who?”

“On the phone,” Peter mumbled. “Who was that?”

At that moment, May realized that Peter had heard her conversation. It washed over her expression, and instead of speaking, she motioned him over to sit beside him. His movements were slow and hesitant, yet he joined her nevertheless. He felt used and dejected. He felt confused. He felt pathetic. 

“Peter,” she said. With the way she spoke to him, he immediately knew something was wrong. “Did you know that I met Tony Stark once?” She smiled, but it was small. 

Peter shook his head. 

“About ten years ago,” she carried on, “maybe eleven. His reputation was a little more unflattering back then. It was just after Richard and Mary died, actually.”

Peter tensed at the sound of his parents’ names. 

“And you were with me.”

“I was?” he whispered, eyes widening. 

May nodded. “You were.” Her smile grew a bit more. “You immediately loved him. Like a moth drawn to a flame. The two of you sat in the corner and played with your trucks. I wish I had taken a picture of the moment. I had never seen him act like that. I had never seen you trust a stranger like that either.”

“How–– how did you meet him?” Peter asked.

May’s smile fell. “We met at an attorney’s office. You see, after your parents died, Ben and I weren’t able to get full guardianship right away. There were some issues with the paperwork. And the reason Tony was there was because––”

“He’s my dad.” The words were sour on Peter’s tongue.

May was slow to react, and Peter didn’t need to hear a verbal answer to know he was right. His jaw tightened, and his teeth clenched hard while he picked at the skin beside his fingernails. Every muscle in his face contorted as he searched for a clear thought in his brain. But everything up there was gray. He couldn’t think about anything. Nothing at all.

“How?” he mumbled. “How’s that possible?” His stomach started to ache. 

“The story was never really cleared up,” she said. “His name is on your birth certificate.”

Peter’s eyes flickered down to his hands. Meanwhile, colors spun around him. “Why’d you never tell me?” he asked her, carefully articulating his words to show the emotions he was feeling. He didn’t even know what he was feeling. “Why’d it take ten years for me to find out? Why wasn’t he allowed to be in my life? May, why did you never tell me?” A few tears had slipped down his cheeks, and the more he spoke, the more they fell. 

She was crying, too. She didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t blame her. He just knew that she was sorry, but what he felt––no matter her apologies––was far too heavy. It outweighed his ability to sympathize at the moment. He needed the chance to feel what he was feeling. What  _ was _ he feeling? 

Peter, in all honesty, was feeling abandoned. 

“He’s––” Peter inhaled sharply. “Did he even want me?”

May nodded. She looked guilty. “Yes. Yes, he wanted you.”

A sob wracked through Peter, and he allowed himself to crumble. He fell against his knees and hid his face in his hands. It was too much. It was all too much.

“Ben and I–– we thought we owed it to your parents to take care of you,” she continued, reaching out for Peter’s shoulder. “We wanted to raise you because we loved them–– we loved you. We didn’t think Tony deserved the privilege at the time. And we’re so sorry. We’re so sorry we didn’t let him be a part of your life. We were scared of what would happen if we did. It was selfish of us, and we’re so sorry.”

Peter straightened his posture while he tried to calm his breathing. “W-why are you talking about Ben as if he’s here? As if he’s alive?” Peter asked, holding back further tears. “Why are you doing that? He’s dead.”

May’s face crumbled, and she didn’t speak another word after that. Peter got up and left before she could. He couldn’t explain what he felt, whether it was anger or frustration, or something in between. Nevertheless, he slammed his bedroom door and stared up at his ceiling for three hours. He let his tears lull him to sleep. 


	8. voicemail to happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter feels like the world is falling apart around him. And he thinks–– if he doesn't have his hero, then maybe he has nothing at all.

**September 2016.**

Peter was scared. 

Not because he had spent the past twenty-four hours stuck in his suit, the red spandex clinging to him in all the wrong places while he put his friends in mortal danger. Not because he had climbed the entire five-hundred feet of the Washington Monument all within two minutes. Not because he secretly cried the entire bus ride home after having literally saved his friends’ lives only hours prior. Peter was scared because he still hadn’t come to terms with what May said to him. 

He didn’t know how to talk to her. He didn’t know how to admit his betrayal to someone he knew who just wanted the best for him. He knew she would take it all back if she could. But she couldn’t, and now Peter was forced to pretend like he wasn’t livid over it. He spent his entire life dreaming. He looked up to Tony, despite the many flaws, and he had been Peter’s father all along. It still didn’t make sense. 

Meanwhile, Peter still had to figure out to take down the vulture guy. Peter, quite honestly, could not cope. 

So, he chose not to let it overwhelm him. He focused on the present. He focused on proving that he was worth the red and blue suit that Tony gave him. That his father gave him. It was still too foreign to admit. It was surreal because Tony had made no effort to be a father, or at least Peter believed so. 

The ferry incident happened fast. It hadn’t gone according to plan, but then again, Peter never planned anything. He led with instincts. Yet, his senses were lacking. Everything was off, and suddenly Tony was there cleaning up the mess. Peter fucked up. He fucked up real bad. 

And he just wanted to  _ scream _ . 

Instead, he sat himself on a ledge and waited for the lecture of a lifetime. The sun was setting in the distance, filling the sky with oranges and yellows, and for a moment, Peter forgot about everything. He forgot about the weapons, about the dude with the wings, about losing May’s trust, about Tony. And then Iron Man appeared once again to bring it all back. 

“Previously on Peter  _ Screws the Pooch, _ ” Tony’s voice began. “I tell you to stay away from this. Instead, you hacked a multimillion-dollar suit so you could sneak around behind my back doing the one thing I told you not to do.” 

Peter’s shoulders fell with the weight of the words. He was tired of letting people down. Tired of people letting  _ him _ down. None of that mattered now anyway. “Is everyone okay?” he asked, crumpling his mask in between his fingers. 

“No thanks to you.”

The anger hit Peter before he could hold it back. “No thanks to me?” He lifted himself off of the ledge and walked toward the Iron Man suit. “Those weapons were out there, and I tried to tell you about it. But you didn’t listen. None of this would’ve happened if you had just listened to me! If you even cared, you’d actually be here.”

Tony stepped out of the suit in an instant, holding his wrist while his gaze narrowed in. That, Peter admitted, was the look of a father who was disappointed in his son. God, Peter was so tired of disappointing everyone.

“I did listen, kid,” said Tony.

Peter’s jaw clenched at the word  _ kid _ . Tony stood there knowing that Peter was his kid. And it made Peter so mad. 

“Who do you think called the FBI, huh?” the older man continued. “Do you know that I was the only one who believed in you? Everyone else said I was  _ crazy _ to recruit a fifteen-year-old kid––”

“But, I’m  _ your _ kid!” Peter heard himself shout. 

Time between them froze, but the world around them carried on. Seagulls wailed in the distance, and waves crashed against the river’s edge below. Cars hummed and honked from streets far away, and passing trains whistled from off of a track nearby. Meanwhile, the sun continued to set around them. Tony’s eyes widened in fear. 

“What if someone had died tonight?” he asked, his voice now hushed. His words were articulate and sharp like there was venom in his dialect. “Different story, right? ‘Cause that’s on you. And if you died, I feel like that’s on me. I don’t need that on my conscience.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter mumbled.

“Yes.”

“I––I’m sorry.”

Tony was holding his wrist. The disappointment radiated off of him. “Sorry doesn’t cut it.”

“I understand,” said Peter. He tried to keep his voice from wavering too much. He worried he would lose control of his emotions after that, and he didn’t want to cry in front of Tony. Not right now. “I just wanted to be  _ like you _ .”

“And I wanted you to be better.”

The words cut into Peter’s chest. This wasn’t what he wanted. He had messed everything up. If he didn’t have his hero, then he had nothing at all. 

“Okay,” Tony continued. “It’s not working out. I’m gonna need the suit back.”

“For how long?” 

“Forever.”

Peter’s lips trembled. He had nothing. He had no one. “No, no, no. Please, please––  _ please.” _

“Let’s have it.”

Peter kept shaking his head. “You don’t understand. Please. This is all I have. I’m nothing without this suit.” 

“If you’re nothing without this suit, then you shouldn’t have it,” Tony said. “Okay? God, I sound like my dad.” His expression twisted once he said that. For a moment, Peter thought he was going to take the statement back. He didn’t. 

Tony didn’t revoke a single word, not even when he left Peter at the doorstep of his apartment, clad in Hello Kitty pants and some tourist New York shirt. Peter was forced to feel like he no longer belonged to anybody. He had to knock on the door to get into his own home. He didn’t have Tony, and now he didn’t even know if he still had May. Peter had never seen her so upset before. 

He lost the Stark internship, he told her, eyes red and wet so she knew how broken he felt. Peter felt his world crumble around him. He lost the internship, he lost trust, he lost something he didn’t even know he had. May sat him down before his tears could fall. 

There was a tense silence between them, but Peter wasn’t going to address it, and neither would she. May sat beside him and held him against her side while he cried. 

“I told him I knew,” Peter whispered. A few minutes had passed. He didn’t want to talk about it, but the words were eating away at his brain. His throat closed tighter and tighter until he allowed himself to breathe.

“Peter––”

“I don’t––” He exhaled. “I don’t think h-he wants me anymore.”

She set a hand on his head, letting her fingers scratch lightly at his scalp while his tears dried. “That’s not true,” she said quietly. 

“How would you know?” Peter pulled himself away so he could look at her. But when he did, more tears soon slipped down onto his cheeks. “You kept him from me for ten years.”

May frowned, her apologetic eyes widening and watering as well. “I didn’t know the kind of person he would become,” she said. “I trust that he loves you.”

“Loves?” Peter let out a dry chuckle and wiped at his eyes. “Yeah. Right.”

“You need to talk to him, honey,” said May. She rubbed his arm briefly. “Or, I can talk to him for you.”

Peter shook his head. “I just don’t get why you didn’t tell me,” he said, sniffing. 

“I was being selfish,” she replied. “Ben and I were. Tony–– he didn’t know you like we did. We’d known you since the day you were born. And, at the time, we didn’t think he was a good environment for a four-year-old kid.”

Peter nodded. It made sense, all of it. But it also didn’t explain a lot, too.

“His life has just always been crazy,” she continued. “And we were too caught up in worrying about it, I guess. We didn’t realize that you might have needed someone like him in your life. I wish we had.”

“He’s not the kind of person I thought he’d be,” Peter whispered.

“What makes you say that?”

He shrugged. Thoughts clouded his brain, but he preferred not to think at all. He wanted to sleep for the next three months. However, one thing did cross his mind. One thing he never mentioned to anyone. “Do you remember when I got lost at the expo the night it was attacked?” he asked.

“Yeah, I threw up in a trash can once we found you,” she said, cracking a small smile at the memory. “Bad chili dog, but honestly, you scared the living shit out of me. One of the worst nights of my life.”

Peter let out a weak laugh. “I don’t really remember much about it,” he admitted. “But I kinda remember the drones. I remember the screaming. I remember Iron Man finding me. Saving me.”

May’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “Peter, you never told me––”

“I never told anyone,” he said. He tugged at the extra-large shirt over his torso as he spoke. “It was kinda too good to be true, so I pretended it was a dream. I thought Tony was gonna be like that.”

“He is like that.”

“You don’t even  _ like _ him––”

“I’ve changed my mind,” May replied.

Peter’s anger returned. “Why? So–– so you can make yourself out to be a better person? So you can feel better about not telling me about my dad for eleven years?” His voice cracked as he spoke, and he felt pathetic for it. 

“No,” May whispered, shaking her head. “It’s so you know that I was wrong. I was wrong to–– to judge him in that way, Peter. Wrong to keep him from you, and you from him. I was wrong. I’m so sorry.”

Peter bit his lip and looked down at his hands. He picked at the skin on his palm. As fast as it came, the anger melted away. He was tired of feeling this much. “I should talk to him,” he mumbled. 

“I think he would like that.”

“You don’t know him,” Peter said.

May nodded. “You’re right. I don’t. Not as well as you. But I know that he sent us support every single month for eight years all because of you. I know that he sent you a gift basket when you got pneumonia. He sent us flowers when he found out that Ben died. He’s always cared about us. About you. He got all of our Christmas cards until the print shop on 25th shut down.”

“We sent out Christmas cards?”

She chuckled. “Ben thought it would be cute.”

Peter traced one of the Hello Kitty faces while he thought about the next thing to say. All of his thoughts had dried up, wrinkled in amongst his worn-out muscles and tired eyes. The weekend had drained him, and the past few hours had simply been the cherry on top. He didn’t want to go to school the next day. He didn’t want to leave his room. He felt lost without Spider-Man. 

“Thank you, May,” Peter whispered after a few seconds of silence. He kept his eyes shut tight. “I’m sorry.”

She pulled him back into a hug and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You don’t need to be sorry, Peter. I’m the one who needs to be sorry. And, I really am. I’m sorry. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She leaned away, smiling briefly before scrunching her nose. “And take a shower. You smell–– you smell like garbage.” 

Peter huffed. “Yeah, I know.”

___

Peter didn’t go home the night he took down the vulture guy. This time, he found a payphone and told May he would be with Ned. Peter didn’t want her worrying once the news of Coney Island broke out. He watched the debris smolder for hours, smoke climbing high into the dark night while the breeze cooled down his burnt skin. He counted every Department of Damage Control agent in their fancy black suits. He even spotted Happy from where he sat atop of the Cyclone. Peter couldn’t move, but then again, he didn’t want to. 

His limbs had never hurt this much. His body had never been endured such physical torture before. He could still taste the sand on his tongue and feel the ash in his lungs. He could still picture every punch replaying themselves over and over again in his head. He had won, he told himself; but did it really matter anymore?

Peter wandered back to the collapsed warehouse, to the place that made his chest tighten and his throat close up. He limped all the way from the burning banks of Brighton Beach to the place where he had drowned under layers of concrete. All of the destruction was because of him. 

His phone was still in Liz’s dad’s car, all shattered and sad with a few thousand calls from various numbers, plus a couple of “hey dude are u alright?”’s from Ned. And Peter ignored all of them. Instead, he called Happy, but the line was busy, so Peter left a message.

“Hey, Hap–– Happy.” Peter’s voice was hoarse and dry, and the urge to cry had crept on faster than he thought. “It’s Peter. Um, you probably saw my note. I’m–– I’m really sorry.” His lip trembled, so he bit it back and closed his eyes to reduce the tears. “I know you didn’t wanna have t’look after me. I know Mister Stark asked me to stay away. B-but I jus’–– I couldn’t.” Peter hiccuped. His tears were hot, and his throat strained to hold back sobs. “I’m sorry.”

He took a breath. This was harder than he thought it would be. He just wanted the night to be over. “Could you relay this message back to Mister Stark?” Peter asked after briefly gathering his composure. “I jus’–– I wanna talk to him but I dunno how. But, yeah, um–– here goes.”

Peter adjusted his posture against the wooden structure behind him. Below, the Cyclone’s lights continued to flash through the night. He had climbed back up again to get a better view of the damage he had caused, to hide away from the reality of everything coming to light.

“Hey, Mister Stark,” Peter said weakly. “Sorry it’s so late, I–– um, I’m just really, really sorry.” He kept his eyes closed as he spoke, meanwhile, the fingers on his free hand tapped along to a nonexistent rhythm. He couldn’t find the right words to say. But he knew what May would tell him if she were here. As cliche as it was, speaking from the heart was his only option. 

“I wanna be a son to someone,” Peter mumbled. The words threatened to catch in his throat. “I’ve wanted it forever. I-I don’t remember my dad. Not really. I––” He played with the fabric bunched around his knees. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be that son for you. Dunno if you even wanted that–– if you wanted me. I think I’m a good kid,” he said, managing a chuckle. “And I think you would’ve been a good dad.

“And, it’s fine if you don’t wanna have that responsibility,” Peter continued. “I don’t–– I don’t blame you. I can’t really blame anyone anymore. It’s–– um, it’s my fault anyway. I keep screwin’ stuff up. I just didn’t wanna let you down. I didn’t wanna let anyone down.” He dangled his foot over the edge. “I wanted t’show you that I could be good enough.”

Peter looked up at the sky. He paid attention to the stars he could see and wondered about the ones he couldn’t. He was captivated by the ebony hues swirling against the yellow and red specks. And he fell in love with the way the sky faded into blue against the lights of the city below. The smoke had left his lungs, and he could breathe again. 

“May isn’t mad at you, by the way,” Peter said as he cleared his throat. “She says–– she says she wishes she had done it all differently. And I believe her. It’s just still hard to understand, I think. Doesn’t make sense. It’s like I’ve been stuck in this–– this  _ dream _ ever since Ben died. And I think it’s a nightmare. Now I got these powers, and now I got you, and––” Peter sighed. “Are you really my dad?” he asked, voice cracking. “I just wanna know. I wanna know your side of the story. I wanna know it all. Because I dunno what to think anymore, Mister Stark.”

He wiped the few tears that had fallen. When he looked at his hand, dirt and blood caked every inch of his skin. It was all over him. The blood was all over him. He could have died. He almost died.

Peter looked up at the sky again. “Yeah, so, uh, call me back if you can,” he said. He wished he was a star. He wished he was up there in space, floating away into nothingness. “It’s Peter. Parker.”

A plane passed overhead. It roared, red and green lights flickering against the deep black night. Peter thought back to when he was a child, to when he was small and naive and searched the skies every night. Back to when he let his imagination overwhelm him. Back to when he let his fascination with heroes define his personality and guide his choices. Back to when he thought that every single plane in the sky was his idol soaring above.

_ What would Iron Man do? _


	9. mismatched socks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony talks to Peter in a very un-Tony way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi this one is short im sorry it's been a tough few days

**September 2016.**

Tony had been given a chance. One  _ fucking  _ chance. A chance to actually be involved in Peter’s life for once-– and he had  _ every  _ good reason to do so! The superhero gig was Tony’s specialty; he never thought that one day Peter would fall along those lines, but hey, if it meant Tony got to be with his son, then that was what Tony was going to do. And then, of course, his personal agenda did not match up with Peter’s. As cool as it was to see the kid swinging around town, all brash and brave, Tony couldn’t help but picture every deadly scenario one after another. He wasn’t going to put his own kid in harm’s way, but that didn’t necessarily mean Peter was going to stop putting himself in harm’s way.

So, Tony figured it would be best to take the privilege away for a while. Teach the little squirt a lesson or two.

_ “But, I’m your kid!” _ had come out of nowhere, and Tony didn’t know how to handle it. So, he didn’t. He avoided it. The pushed the thought back and carried on with the punishment, but once he flew away, he didn’t know if he ever wanted to land back down.

He knew. Peter knew.  _ How long had he known? _

Tony had been given one chance, and he fucked it all up. He turned his back on the one thing he swore he never would. It was the fear of living a new life–– that was where Tony thought he lied. The fear of having to change, the fear of settling into a world he knew nothing about. As much as he idealized parenthood for the past eleven years, he never thought he’d be given the chance. Now, Peter knew he was Tony’s son. Tony felt sick.

And then Happy’s calls came in. 

_ “Tony. It’s the kid. He–– he fucking took down the plane. Took down the dude trying to steal it. Saved everything, I–– I got no words, Tony. I don’t know where he is. All he left was a note, and Jesus–– it’s too hot for this. Sorry, Tony, I’m sorry. I’ll call ya later.” _

_ “Hey, Tony. Sorry to call again, but, uh–– listen. The kid just left this voicemail on my phone, and I’m gonna send it to ya, but I think you should get down here. Come find him. Talk to him. Yeah.” _

Tony took to the skies in an instant, teeth chattering against each other while the interface filled his tech with the sound of Peter’s voice. The repulsors were hot beneath Tony’s feet as he dipped down toward the skyline, and he tried not to think about the conversation ahead of him. He tried not to think about every scratch and cut that adorned the kid’s skin. It was all because Tony hadn’t considered the possible outcomes. 

_ I wanna be a son to someone.  _

_ I’m sorry I couldn’t be that son for you.  _

_ I think you would’ve been a good dad. _

A pressure settled against Tony’s throat. He had let things go too far out of hand. He had let himself forget about the person he wanted to be for Peter. And now, Peter’s words were echoing in Tony’s brain. He had wanted to be a son–– but did that mean Peter wanted to be one to Tony? They hardly knew each other. But they also knew each other so well. 

_ “Boss, there are significantly higher levels of carbon monoxide in the air, _ ” said FRIDAY.  _ “Air quality index is 142.” _

Tony could see the lights of Coney Island as his AI spoke. The beach smoldered, but the fire was long gone. Only a few firefighters were left to clean up the mess, and his Damage Control agents had already gathered the evidence of the crash. Tony couldn’t believe that Peter had been there. 

“Okay, FRIDAY,” Tony mumbled. “Where’s my kid at?”

_ “Searching for unique heat signatures.” _

Tony glanced down at the ground. “Make it snappy, darling. Kid’s stubborn. If he sees me––”

_ “I have located a higher heat signature on the top of the Cyclone rollercoaster.” _

“Excellent.” 

Peter had been watching Tony. As he neared, the kid didn’t budge. He kept eerily still, almost like he had been waiting for this, waiting for Tony to confess all under the worst circumstances. Peter looked as though he had been dragged through hell. Cuts and burns––bruises and blood––decorated his body, and his eyes were void of the genuine innocence he usually carried with him. The old suit looked made him look younger–– it made him look smaller. Tony wanted nothing more than to fix everything for him.

“You trying to give your old man a heart attack?” Tony asked, his tone light. 

Peter didn’t speak as Tony hovered beside him. There was a different look in the kid’s eyes that reminded Tony a bit of Pepper. Peter was not amused. 

“All right, then,” Tony sighed, and the suit around him opened as he stepped out onto a thin, metal beam. He didn’t have Peter’s balance and flexibility, that was for sure, but Tony wasn’t going to hide behind a mask. Not right now. He sat across from Peter and avoided looking down at the ground a hundred feet below. “I’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

Peter’s stare was intense. Tony deserved it. 

“First thing’s first,” he said, “could we find a more comfortable place to sit? This is kinda cold on my butt, and heights aren’t really my  _ thing _ ––”

“No.”

Tony nodded as his lips curled. “Okay, okay. That’s fine.” He cleared his throat. Not only did he not know how to begin, but he also didn’t know what to say in the first place. “You–– um, you did a good job,” he said, looking down at the beach. “Took a lot of guts, and, uh, must’ve been really–– Jesus.  _ C’mon _ , Pete, you gotta give me something. I’m not really good at this sorta thing.”

Peter’s expression remained unchanged. 

Tony sighed. “Would it help if you asked me questions, and then I just answered them? Completely unfiltered. No limitations. Anything you want.”

Finally, Peter’s eyes softened, and he relaxed his gaze. “Yeah.”

A small smile grew on Tony’s face. Something had been aching in his chest, but it was fairly familiar. He felt this way for eleven years. He lived every day watching Peter grow up from afar, and the ache had subsided once Tony finally found a way to be a part of Peter’s life. The possibility of losing him hurt more than never having him. Tony had to start from scratch, but he was okay with that. 

“Are you––” Peter clenched his jaw and looked down at his hands. “Are you really my dad?”

Tony thought he had been ready for the conversation. Now, he wasn’t so sure. But nevertheless, he could no longer keep his own son in the dark. 

“Yes,” he said. “As far as we know. Your mom and I had met when she shadowed at my company for a bit. Took me fucking  _ forever _ to remember, but she was in the directory and everything. That entire year was a damn fever dream.”

“You don’t remember her?” Peter asked quietly. 

Those were words Tony hadn’t expected to hear. His nod was quick. “I wish I did.’

“But, your name is on my birth certificate?” 

“Under the worst signature that I’ve ever seen, yes.” Tony rubbed his hands together. The air was cooler in late September, especially at night. But if Peter wanted to be outside, then Tony would stay there as long as his kid wanted. 

Peter nodded. “Why did–– why did no one ever tell me?” 

His voice broke Tony’s heart. 

“It was just a week in your life to you,” he said with a shrug. “You were four. Too young to comprehend anything going on. You walked right up to me, called me the  _ gun-man _ , and then went and played with your toys.”

Peter cracked a smile. 

“No one was hiding it from you, not at first,” Tony continued. A shiver ran through him as the wind picked up. “I’ll never–– I’ll never blame your aunt for how it all went down. In a way, I was the one who kinda kept myself from you. I didn’t want you to grow up thinkin’ I abandoned you. I told them you were better off not knowing about me at all.”

Peter frowned. “You did?”

“I’d turn back time, obviously,” said Tony. He gazed over at the lights reflecting off of the water in the distance. “Maybe to be someone for you. I spent ten or eleven years chasin’ this dream that maybe, one day, things would all work out. Not to be sappy, but I really wanted to be a dad for you. God, kid, I wanted it more than anything.”

The sadness behind Peter’s eyes never faded. The crusted blood and dirt on his cheeks never washed away. But for a brief moment, all Tony could see was a spread of relief. 

And then it faltered. 

“Then, why––” Peter’s voice cracked. “Why’d you wait so long? After Ben died, I didn’t–– I didn’t have anyone. I looked up to you all my life. I needed you.”

Tony felt the ache in his chest grow larger, and his eyes pricked with a heavy burning sensation. He knew that if he moved, he would cry. 

“I don’t know,” Tony whispered, clutching his wrist while the breeze rocked his shoulders. “I didn’t exactly know how to waltz into your life and announce,  _ hey, I’m your dad! _ It was––” Tony sighed. “It was when I found out that you were Spider-Man, I finally saw the opportunity to  _ be _ something. Maybe not a dad, but possibly a mentor. I didn’t know I’d be that  _ shitty _ at it.”

“You were shitty.”

Tony chuckled. “Not even sugar-coatin’, huh? No, I know. I was too busy spending every goddamn minute thinking of ways to tell you, but I ended up comin’ off as more of an asshole than anything. I’m sorry.”

Peter sniffed. He looked so young. “Your socks are different colors.”

Tony glanced down to where his pants had risen and laughed. “Yeah, well, when Happy called me, I wasn’t exactly ready for the runway. Plus, it’s laundry day.”

Peter nodded.

After a few moments of silence, Tony spoke up again. “I’m gonna work on myself,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh. Well, I did. You were acting ridiculously irrational, and––”

“Mister Stark?”

“It’s not  _ entirely _ your fault, though,” he continued. “I didn’t tell you I was calling the Feds, and Happy confessed to dodging your calls. Which, I’m gonna talk to him about, by the way, so you’ll never have to––”

“Mister Stark.”

“Yeah? What?”

Peter smiled. It was weak, a little broken, but it was a smile. “It’s fine.”

Tony smiled, too, but it still hurt to breathe. There were things left unanswered, many things that Tony didn’t have the heart or energy to talk about. He knew they would emerge when they had their chance. “I have a question for you now, Mister Parker.”

Peter straightened his posture. 

“Is it–– is it too late?” Tony asked, voice falling hushed once he realized how loaded the question was. He realized that the words pained him. “To make up for lost time? Is it too late?”

Peter was silent for a moment, but he soon shook his head. “No.”

The weight in Tony’s chest lifted. He couldn’t have Peter’s past, but maybe now he could be a part of his future. 


	10. spider-nerd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Peter finally get to have some father-son bonding time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the formatting sometimes gets messed up when i move my writing to here and idk how to fix it lol

**November 2016.**

“This just in, the Spider-baby’s out for the count. Alert the city. Alert the government. Tell the Feds. The CIA. Spider-baby can’t protect them from his Spider-nap.”

“Shut up,” Peter groaned, throwing an arm out from the little head nest he had made for himself. 

They had been working on something—by that point, Tony wasn’t even sure what. Next thing he knew, Peter was slumped against the workbench, head in his arms as soft snores echoed around the room. Then again, the exhaustion made sense. Peter spent the past twenty-four hours swinging through the city and working overtime on a science fair project about quantum computing. Tony heard about every minute of it through Peter’s incoherent adrenaline rush over the phone. Once he stepped foot into the compound, it was lights out for the super-teen. 

“Sorry to break it to ya, kiddo,” said Tony, “but May’s expectin’ you home for dinner. She’s making Swedish meatballs. Or,  _ buying _ Swedish meatballs. Maybe she said skittish wheat logs. No, that doesn’t make sense…”

“I’m _ up _ , I’m up.” Peter huffed and straightened his spine. His skin was flushed, eyes puffy and sad, and a great big red mark was splattered against his cheek from his sweater. He picked up a hand-held soldering iron to continue what he was working on, but Tony reached out to snag it away.

“No, no, no,” he said, eyebrows furrowing while he smirked at the kid. “You’ll burn the whole place down. Lemme get you a jigsaw puzzle and a juice box.” Tony stood and walked over to another table where he messed around with holographic schematics. 

Peter let out another groan. He looked properly drained as he twisted his body around to face Tony. “I’m fifteen. Not five.”

“Yeah, you’re a real big boy now, Mister Parker,” mumbled Tony. “You want some crayons to keep you busy?” 

“I’ll take colored pencils.”

Tony chuckled. “FRIDAY, let’s get an overnight on a 120-pack of Crayola.” 

_ “Sure thing, boss _ .”

Peter’s head fell back against the metal workbench with a clang. “You’re trying to kill me,” he said, voice muffled by his arms. 

“You got me,” said Tony. He held up his hands. “Call the cops now. Tony Stark arrested for killing his own son by making him  _ color _ when he’s sleepy.” 

“Bye, I’m leaving,” announced Peter, and despite the sarcasm, he made his way toward the door. “Gonna go eat some skittish wheat logs and tell May that you tried to murder me today.”

“Murder you?” Tony laughed again. “Don’t tell her that. She’ll believe you.”

“That’s the point.

Tony’s face physically hurt from the weight of his smile. “I’ve aged twenty years since this conversation started.” He closed all of the files he had open and turned toward Peter. “When’s your science fair-slash-carnival thingy? I’ll take a stab at some things tonight if ya want, and you can just––quite literally––swing by tomorrow and––”

“Yeah, I’ll be here tomorrow,” Peter said with a smile. “Same time. And, uh, I think the fair is on the eighteenth? Can’t remember. Is that a Friday?”

“That’s a Friday, kiddo.” 

“You think we can get it done in nearly a week?” Peter asked as he fumbled with the strap of his backpack. 

Tony raised a brow. “Look who you’re talking to. I can build a computer in thirty minutes.” 

“You think  _ I _ can get it done in nearly a week?”

“Well, sure,” said Tony. He threw a jacket over his shoulder before heading out of the workshop with Peter on his tail. “You’ve got my blood in those veins of yours. And that spider shit crawlin’ around in there. How does that even _ work _ by the way?” 

The pair walked down the long corridors of the compound. It felt like business here, all cold and concealed, and Tony wished he had a more congenial space for him and Peter to work in. A space like his old home in Malibu where he had every square inch memorized. It had felt like a real home to Tony; it could have been a real home to Peter. 

“Honestly,” said Peter, shrugging, “I don’t even know. Oscorp had that creepy bug room. Spider bit me. Then I threw up.”

“And you just  _ had _ to check it out, huh?” Tony knocked elbows with Peter. 

“C’mon, I was fourteen,” Peter replied. “I’m a new man now.” 

Tony laughed. He did a lot of that now. Laughing felt like second nature, and Peter didn’t constantly remind Tony of the many things he had done wrong. “ _ A new man _ ,” Tony muttered. “Gonna tell Rhodey you said that. Although, I’m not surprised you snuck around a highly secured, billion-dollar tech company that is constantly biting at my ass. Us geniuses tend to be curious-by-nature when it comes to radioactive bugs.”

“Please don’t tell Mister Rhodes I said that,” Peter pleaded.

Tony draped an arm over the kid’s shoulder as they stepped out into the cold evening. “Nah, don’t worry, kiddo. He’s got a different sense of humor.” Tony unlocked the car, and its beep echoed into the night. “You’re on music duty. None of that Timberlake shit. If I hear that  _ Can’t Stop the Feeling _ song one more time, I’ll move to Slovenia.” 

Peter slid into the passenger seat as Tony started the car. “Could we listen to this one audiobook I’ve been reading? Well,  _ technically _ , I’ve been listening to it, but it’s been really informative. It’s about––”

“Okay, Spider-nerd, buckle up now, or I’m getting you a booster seat.”

___

_ “Boss, there’s an incoming call from Peter Parker.” _

“Do I have to initiate the bedtime story protocol?”

_ “Not this time, boss,”  _ said FRIDAY.

Tony hummed. “This kid’s giving me gray hair. Okay. Patch him through.” The screens above the workbench flickered, and white noise appeared in digital soundwaves from the opposite line. “I can’t warm up milk from here, kiddo. What’d you dream about this time?”

_ “Oh, h-hey, Mister Stark,”  _ Peter said over the phone, voice cracking through the weak receiver. There were a thousand other noises seeping through, and Tony immediately knew the kid was outside.  _ “Did I wake you?” _

“No…” Tony tapped his knuckles against the metal table. “But, I would love to know exactly why I’m having this lovely little conversation with you at three in the morning. If it’s another article about fan theories for  _ Star Wars _ , kid, I don’t wanna—”

_ “No, I–– uh, just wanted to talk _ ,” said the kid with a laugh.  _ “No crime in that, right? Unless you’re––shit––unless you’re too busy t-to talk to your own son.” _

Tony sat up. “Pete. Everything okay?”

_ “Pfft, yeah, duh, _ ” Peter replied, although a wince cut through. He quickly covered it up with,  _ “why wouldn’t I be okay? I’m talking to you _ . _ ” _

Tony almost let it slide, of course, but despite the smile growing on his face, he couldn’t help the anxiety crawling up his chest. “All right, then, kiddo,” he began, “how were the skittish wheat logs? Tell me ‘bout your night.”

_ “Uh, sure.”  _ Peter let out a heavy breath, meanwhile, Tony had pressed mute on his microphone.  _ “Well, they weren’t actually Swedish, and––” _

“FRIDAY, gimme the kid’s vitals,” Tony spoke over Peter. The kid carried on with his shaking and stuttering rant about May’s meatballs. 

_ “Boss, Peter’s blood pressure is critically low. He is running at 50/30 with a heart rate of 45 beats per minute.” _

“Shit.” Tony spat out as he pushed his hair back and rubbed his face. “ _ Shit. _ Unmute. Pete? Kiddo? What’s really goin’ on?”

_ “N-nothing, Mis’er Stark,”  _ Peter breathed out.  _ “Really. M’totally fine.” _

“Peter Benjamin Parker.”

The kid laughed lightly. 

“Pete, you gotta tell me.”

_ “It’s— it’s fine,”  _ he said, wincing through his words.  _ “I just couldn’t sleep. Had t-to go for a swing. _

_ Now I got this— this pain. But it’s fine. It’s fine.” _

“What pain?” Tony asked sharply.

Peter tried to laugh again, but he cried out instead.  _ “Shit, Mister Stark, it hurts.”  _

“Okay, kiddo, relax,” Tony said. “I’m comin’ to get you. Stay on the phone ‘til I get there. All right?” 

_ “Y-yeah, yeah, okay.”  _ Peter’s voice weakened the more spoke, and every inflection in his tone was followed by another wince of pain. 

Tony was surrounded in his armor in an instant. He didn’t bother using the bathroom one more time—he really had to go but the kid was more important—and he didn’t bother asking Peter where he was. Tony already had a feeling. It was the spot Peter went when he felt like he had nowhere else to go.

Peter’s breathing was heavy through the phone, and Tony couldn’t remove the sounds from his brain. This was a nightmare, an actual fucking nightmare, but it was one Tony had lived a million times over. Nevertheless, it didn’t keep his heart rate from skyrocketing every time the kid swore under his breath. It was a new level of panic, like the fear of death had never quite settled in for Tony before. Not until it sounded like his own son was slipping from consciousness for a reason he failed to reveal. 

_ “Mis’er Stark _ ,” Peter mumbled as Tony took to the skies. 

“You’re doin’ great,” Tony replied. “Stay with me. What’d you have for breakfast this morning?” 

_ “Uh, dunno. Eggs and toast?” _

Tony broke the sound barrier within seconds of take-off. He couldn’t remember the last time he flew that fast, but he couldn’t wallow in the sensation. Peter’s vitals were red, flashing vigorously within Tony’s peripherals, and the numbers were only dropping. 

“Eggs and toast, huh?” Tony tried to remain calm as he spoke. But he couldn’t ignore the tremors in his fingers as he flew above New York City. He could almost feel the eyes of spectators down below. “FRIDAY, let Helen know we’ll be needing the Med Bay very soon.”

_ “Right away, boss.” _

“Kid, how’s it going over there?” Tony asked as he took a brief glance at the East below. He wished he had invented some teleportation advice. 

Peter mumbled something incoherent. 

“Pete?”

_ “We’re Gucci,” _ said the kid.

Tony chuckled. “Okay, Spider-Man, see you in a minute.”

The streetlights seemed to dim as he landed. There, in some small park in Bricktown, Peter sat against a tree in the pitch dark. Only a portion of his shoulder was illuminated by a lamp above. 

“Hey, Pete,” Tony said, kneeling down as his mask lifted. “You still with me?” 

Peter’s head lolled to face Tony, but he kept his body still. He had an arm draped over his torso, and his legs were splayed before him. He let out a breath. 

“Oh, hey, Mister Stark.” 

Tony removed Peter’s mask, and below the red material was a black eye and a busted lip. But that wasn’t what caused him the most pain. 

“You got s-sweat on y-your forehead.” Peter’s eyes fluttered shut, but they quickly snapped back open. It was like he was fighting to stay awake. To stay alive.

Tony didn’t say another word as he took Peter’s wrist and moved it to the side. It was too dark to see the injury, too dark to see the blood pooling around the open wound that was exposed by the torn suit. Peter shivered, and a wince shuddered through him. 

“The meat–– the meatballs were––”

“No more talking, kiddo,” said Tony as he scooped Peter up in his arms. 

A strangled cry left Peter, and Tony quickly set him back down onto the grass. He had never heard that sound before, but he never wanted to hear it again. He didn’t know what to do. Panic was rising in his chest––Peter was bleeding  _ out–– _ and Tony didn’t know what to do. 

“FRIDAY.” Tony placed his hand over the wound to apply pressure. “Can I cauterize it? Run the numbers. Fucking run ‘em now!”

_ “Cauterizing will prove to be ninety-eight percent effective,”  _ she said.  _ “It will buy you some time.” _

Tony didn’t waste another second. “Sorry, kiddo, this is gonna hurt like a bitch,” he said, holding his hand millimeters from the open wound. The heat of the repulsor reflected against the plating on his fingers, and he could see Peter’s bloodstains on the gold metal. Tony’s stomach twisted at the sight–– there was too much blood, and Peter’s skin was too damn pale.

Peter’s screams echoed around the park. Tears slipped down his cheeks and onto Tony’s hand, but he remained completely still. He knew the pain would worsen if he flailed. He knew the wound would bleed faster. He shut his eyes tight while his cries permanently etched themselves into Tony’s brain. 

“Almost done, buddy,” Tony mumbled, and his hand shook above the deep wound. It looked too familiar to him, and he had seen injuries just like it more times than necessary. It was a gunshot wound, a fucking  _ gunshot wound _ , and it was on his own son. 

“P-please,” Peter wept. His skin was covered in bruises, and it was wet with blood and tears. 

Tony let out a heavy sigh as the repulsor died off. The smell in the air was foul, like cooked skin and bloody metal, and he couldn’t take another minute of it. He had put Peter through too much pain. 

“Gonna have t’lift you, Pete,” Tony said. 

Peter nodded. 

“Hold your mask for me, bud.” Tony wedged his hands back underneath Peter’s torso, and despite the audible winces, he lifted him into his arms. They were in the air in a matter of seconds. “FRIDAY, stabilize him. Keep my arms locked. Okay there, Pete?”

Peter nodded again. His eyes had fallen shut.

“I need you t’stay awake, kiddo,” Tony said. “Promise me you’ll stay awake. We’ll be at the compound in no time.”

Peter nodded for a third time. It was weaker than the first few. “Promise,” he whispered. His breathing was shallow and staggered. As they soared over the city, a smile found its way on his face. It was small, almost non-existent, but it was there. And it scared Tony to death.

___

There were two things on Tony’s mind. First, he didn’t think he could last another second without caffeine coursing through his veins. If he didn’t get his hands on a shot of espresso, he wouldn’t make it the rest of the morning. Second, he hadn’t received a single ounce of information on Peter’s condition, and it slowly wearing Tony down. Helen Cho had taken Peter into surgery at 4:16 in the morning, and the time on the clock now read 8:49. 

It was a surgery she was familiar with. Removing bullets was like brushing her teeth now that she worked for Tony, as unfortunate as that statement was. It had never taken this long before; Tony wasn’t able to figure out what the issue could be.

He paced the halls. He paced the lobby and the workshop. He paced every square inch of the many facilities, waiting for an announcement from FRIDAY that Peter was out of surgery and resting. But there was nothing. Not a single carrier pigeon to come tell Tony that his son was alive. The anxiety chewed away at his fingernails. 

He had downed two espressos by the time FRIDAY alerted him that Peter was finally out of surgery. Tony couldn’t remember the last time he ran that fast, but the action certainly caught up to him once he arrived at the medical bay. He didn’t take a moment to catch his breath. Helen waited for him there in her scrubs. Pinkish-red stains decorated the front. 

“Can I get you an oxygen mask, Tony?” she asked, a smile playing on her lips. 

Tony didn’t laugh. “He––he––is he––”

“He’s fine,” she said, pulling up a set of X-Rays. “He’s a trooper. The bullet had lodged itself just to the right of his kidney. But, because of his abilities, the tissue around the bullet had actually begun to heal itself. It took longer to remove it, but after that, I was able to revitalize his tissue. He should be healed in no time.”

Tony nodded and swallowed a thick gulp of air. “G-good. That’s–– uh, that’s really good. Thank you, Helen. I will be sure your secret Santa gets you something really expensive this year.”

She smiled. “It’s my pleasure, Tony. Peter won’t be up for another few hours, but he’ll be waiting for you in recovery.”

A few more notions of gratitude were exchanged before Tony made his way to see Peter. The halls were eerily quiet, but then again, the compound was like that nowadays. Tony was glad that not everyone had given up on him. 

Peter’s heart monitor was the only sound Tony could hear as he walked into the room. The kid was asleep, motionless in an anesthetic dreamland, and he looked too peaceful for how the past few hours had played out. Tony wanted to shake him awake and force words out of his mouth. Instead, Tony sat in three full hours of silence. He couldn’t sleep, and he barely moved as he watched Peter’s chest swell and deflate with every breath. It was comforting to know that he was breathing. 

Around midday, Peter’s eyes fluttered open for the first time. He looked at Tony, looked at his hands, and looked up to the ceiling before falling back asleep again. Peter talked in his sleep; it was something Tony had never noticed before. Perhaps the kid wasn’t even asleep, but the incoherent words troubled Tony. Some were sharp, and some were quiet, but all were spoken in a messy string that filled the quiet atmosphere between them. 

Peter awoke again around dinner time. Tony had taken another walk around the compound, and he even made sure to get some food in his system. His exhaustion had yet to hit him. Once FRIDAY announced that Peter had woken up again, Tony’s adrenaline spiked. Nothing mattered as long as Peter was still hooked up to a thousand wires. 

Peter smiled as Tony walked in. “Mm, hey Tony,” the kid spoke in a drugged slur. “Got blu’ber’y pancakes fo’ me?”

Tony chuckled and shook his head. “That’s literally so random, I can’t even begin to explain.” He sat down beside Peter, and his smile grew. “How’re you feeling, kiddo?”

“ _ Goooooood _ ,” said Peter. A fit of giggles followed. “Like a mill’on bucks.”

“You look like a million bucks.” Tony ruffled the kid’s hair. “Tell ya what, I’ll get you pancakes if you promise to never swing and sleep. Next time you get shot, I’m taking the suit.”

“No!” cried Peter, eyes widening comically while Tony continued laughing. “Don’t do tha’.  _ My _ suit.” Peter glanced over at a television in the corner of the room. “Movie.”

“You want a movie, kiddo?” Tony asked. “What d’ya want?”

Peter cracked a loopy grin. “ _ Star Wars _ .”

“All right, Spider-nerd. But don’t you dare fall asleep.” 

Ten minutes into  _ A New Hope _ , Peter’s snores filled the room. But Tony didn’t wake him up. He just smiled, kissed the kid’s forehead, and watched the rest of the film wishing that he had Peter’s dorky commentary to keep him company. 


	11. runaway train of thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter goes on an Academic Decathlon trip, and naturally, things go wrong.

**March 2017.**

“––no, they changed it in 2004, too.”

“What do you mean they changed it in 2004?”

“They did a re-release where they shoot each other at the same time, but Han dodges the shot and Greedo is hit.”

“Jesus Christ, they should’ve just kept it as the original.”

“Yeah, honestly. It’s so much better if it’s––”

“If you two nerds don’t mind,” MJ began, sticking her head up over the seats, “I’m trying to read. I’ve been on the same paragraph for an hour now.”

Peter slumped down as Ned mumbled a few apologies.

She stared at them for a moment. “Han shot first,” she said before dipping back below the bus seats.

Ned chuckled dryly, but once he met Peter’s gaze, his eyes widened. _“Weird,”_ he mouthed.

Peter nodded along, meanwhile, all attention turned to the tour guide stepping into the aisle across from them. He had been going off about Paul Revere’s home for the past six minutes––Peter was counting, and, naturally, he didn’t care all that much about the information being shared. Soon, the bus stopped in some narrow alley. The class followed the man off, and once everyone gathered outside, they all began walking down the street. Peter caught Ned’s arm before he could walk any farther.

“Ned, I’m bored,” Peter muttered. “Let’s branch off.”

“Peter, _no_, you cannot be serious right now.”

Peter gave his friend an innocent grin, and Ned sighed. “Ned, c’mon! I’m not gonna spend my spring break in Boston learning about the frickin’ freedom trail.”

“If we get in trouble before the decathlon––”

“We _won’t_,” Peter said. “Ned, please.”

Ned hesitated, and he sighed once more. “Peter, we shouldn’t––”

“I’ll ask Mister Stark if you can spend a day with me up at the compound.”

Ned blinked. “With–– with the other Avengers? Seriously? Oh my god, I’m gonna meet Iron Man. Oh my god. Is the War Machine there, too?”

“It’s just War Machine,” Peter chuckled. “No. I dunno. No one’s really there anymore. Now, let’s _go_. I’m hungry.”

“I’m gonna meet Black Widow. Holy shit.”

“_Ned._”

___

Peter had done his best to familiarize himself with the city before the trip, just in case an unlikely event had to occur and he needed to maneuver around easily. Of course, he had Karen, and her help was lovely, but sometimes Peter had to trust his instincts. He trusted when they told him to break free of the class, when they told him to watch the train tracks over the river, and when they screamed _false alarm_ as the minutes passed by. Peter sat defeated, skin itching beneath the suit and the layers of warmth piled on top of it. Ned was growing antsy by the minute, and Peter didn’t blame him. But he had a feeling that he needed to be there. It was just a feeling.

He was starting to think that was all it was–– nothing more.

“Peter,” said Ned after a few minutes of silence. His teeth chattered while harsh gusts of wind from over the water hit their faces. “I’m cold. Let’s go back.”

Peter scratched at his collarbone. “Just–– Just a little longer. Promise.” He was cold himself, lips blueing by the minute while the sun started its descent down toward the horizon. But, despite the layer of ice threatening to build up over his eyes, Peter kept his guard up. The feeling hadn’t gone away. By this point, he wasn’t sure he wanted to trust it. His joints were frozen solid.

He wished the Decathlon had been in Florida this year. Instead, he was spending the first half of his spring break in an icicle. They could have been walking through Jurassic Park in Universal, but apparently, the site of the Boston Massacre was more appealing. Peter had never been a big history buff, and there were more important things to worry about. For instance, a possible train derailment that his senses were telling him about was bound to happen eventually.

Peter, quite honestly, was nervous.

He sighed. “Okay,” he mumbled, standing up and stretching his cold muscles. “I think my fingers are gonna fall off anyway. Sorry I dragged you out here.”

Ned shrugged and shot his friend a smile. “Dude, I’m just honored you’re letting me be a part of this. Who would’ve thought Ned Leeds, best friend of Peter Parker, would also get to––”

Loud screeches, like metal crunching against concrete, filled the air. It felt like fingernails on a chalkboard to Peter, and he wondered if it was that loud to Ned as well. Except, in Peter’s case, he could hear the hundreds of screams. He could feel the icy impact as if it had already happened. When he turned to face the bridge, all he saw were sparks flying around.

“Duty calls,” Peter said, diving into the shadows of a building so he could slip on his mask. It only took a moment to take off the rest of his clothes, and soon enough, he was running toward the bridge and swinging himself onto the track. “Karen. Hey, hi. I––uh––what should I do?”

_“The train is traveling at twelve miles-per-hour,” _she said. _“Three out of ten cars have derailed. If the train accelerates any further––”_

“Shit, I don’t really wanna know,” Peter muttered under his breath. He watched it near him, avoiding gazes from walking bystanders and the cars stopped on the street beside the track. There were so many sparks, he could hardly see the locomotive behind them. He didn’t doubt his own strength-–that wasn’t the issue––he worried about physics. He worried the ice in his veins and the lack of oxygen in his brain would hinder his ability to save the day.

Peter glanced down at the waves in the Charles below. “How many people on this train, Karen?”

_“384.”_

Peter’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit. Okay. _Okay_. Here we go.” He took a breath, and the cold slid off of his shoulders as nerves took their place. The screeches grew louder, but he fought past the sounds of grinding metal. He ran toward the train a second later. Twelve miles-per-hour? He had stopped cars at forty before. It was no issue; right?

Peter felt like a bug on a windshield. His limbs splattered against the front, meanwhile, the sparks were hot around him. They reflected in the fear of the conductor’s expression. So, in hopes of easing their terror, Peter gave them a wink and a wave, and they nodded in return.

A train station was coming up close, and Peter had to think fast. He had to keep the train from hitting civilians; he had to keep it from going underground again.

“K-Karen,” he said, wincing as his muscles strained. “_Damn, _this is heavy. Karen? Gimme web grenades. Web grenades!”

He aimed at the wheels below and, as best as he could, shot bundles of webbing to break the train’s acceleration. The sparks had worsened around him, and the noises were too loud, too painful for Peter to focus. He didn’t know what else to do.

A voice cut in._“Incoming, kiddo.”_

“Mister–– Mister Stark?”

In amongst the sparks, a handful of thrusters darted through the air and attached themselves to the sides of the train. Peter set himself back onto the tracks, despite the pain of the metal rubbing against the soles of his feet, and he pushed as hard as he could.

“It’s–– It’s working!” he shouted. The train decelerated slowly while the tracks began to dip back underground. Sparks died off, and the noises soon faded away. Eventually, the train car felt lighter than air in Peter’s grip. The repulsor-powered thrusters continued to work hard, but his job was done.

He let out a long breath, but he couldn’t dwell on his putty arms for long before he swung away. Bystanders clapped, and the conductor had stuck his head out of the window to say something. However, Peter never liked to stay at the scene. He needed a moment of silence.

A nearby roof seemed to suffice, but the peace never lasted long. A familiar suit of metal landed before him.

Peter didn’t seem to know what to say. He was thankful for the help of the thrusters, sure, but they had gotten there so fast. Tony had gotten there so fast. That left a sour taste in Peter’s mouth. He took his mask off.

“Why are you here?” he asked quietly. _God_, he was exhausted. And he was freezing.

“Oh, I’m not,” Tony replied.

Peter huffed. “Course.”

The suit stepped closer. “I was just mindin’ my business, actually. Crafting some nifty ideas for the new suit I was thinking about for you. And then suddenly I get a notification from––what is it, _Karen?_––who informs me that a certain arachnid-kid is too damn cold to single-handedly stop a runaway train that’s traveling at, probably, less than ten miles-per-hour––”

“It was––”

“And then,” Tony continued. “I realize that you’re supposed to be touring some old ass church, not waiting around in the freezing cold for a train crash to happen.”

“I was _trying_.”

“You were?” Tony asked. “Trying to hug a train? Looked nice and warm. I’ll try not to interrupt your date next time.”

“I had it covered,” Peter said, folding his arms.

“Looked very covered,” the older man replied. The suit nodded along to the words. “Covered in webbing. Good thinkin’ on your toes, I’ll give ya that.”

Peter furrowed his brows and frowned. “I didn’t need you.”

The Iron Man armor set a hand on its chest. “Ouch. That cut deep. I’ll make sure to remember that next time you put hundreds of lives at risk.”

“Why can’t you just trust me?” Peter shouted suddenly. He hadn’t meant to unleash a fit of anger like that–– he didn’t realize he was angry at all. But then again, the words Tony spoke were condescending, and Peter felt like an idiot. “Why can’t you just _believe _in me?”

Tony was silent for a moment. “I do believe in you, kiddo,” he said softly. “You think it’s _easy_ for me to watch you out there every day, swinging around and nearly killing yourself? You think I don’t stay up every night regretting that I ever made that goddamn suit for you? I can’t lose you, Pete. I can’t fucking _lose _you.”

Peter hugged his arms tighter against his body.

“But I see how happy being Spider-Man makes you,” Tony continued. “So, of course, I’m gonna let you be the hero ya wanna be. I’m proud of you. So fucking proud. I wish I could tell the whole world that my son is Spider-Man. The least I can do is make sure you don’t kill yourself because you don’t think things through. The least _you_ can do is let me still help you while I can.”

“You don’t have to help,” Peter replied. “I’m not asking you to. I can do this on my own.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna do all of this alone?” Tony asked. “You wanna swing around town in that onesie again? All you gotta do is say yes. I’ll take the suit, and you can be Spidey without my help.”

“That’s–– that’s not what I meant.”

“I can take it all away.”

Peter shook his head. “No, I––”

“Yes or no,” said Tony. “Easy as that.”

“No.” Peter felt incredibly small. He wished Tony was really there. “I don’t want that.”

The suit nodded. “I can’t keep danger from knocking on our door, Pete. I can’t protect you from getting the flu or breaking a bone during gym class–– some shit like that. But if I can protect you from the one thing that keeps me up at night, then hell, I’ll take desperate measures to do so. Because when I see the odds––” The suit grabbed its wrist. Peter wondered where Tony was now. “––When I hear that my own son is out there freezing himself to death to stop thousands of tons that could easily _crush_ him if things just _happened _to go south––”

“It wasn’t going to crush me.”

“_But if it did!”_ The suit backed away and grabbed at its forehead with one hand. “I can’t have you dyin’ on me, Pete. You gotta let me do my part. I’ll–– I’ll beg. Please.”

Peter had heard desperation in Tony’s voice before, but not like that. It had never sounded like that.

Peter swallowed. “Sorry,” he whispered, nodding. “I’m sorry. I understand.”

Tony let out an audible, metallic sigh. “I swear to God, if you didn’t have that fucking decathlon thing tomorrow––”

“You’d ground me?”

“No,” said Tony. “No, you did a great job today, kiddo, don’t even doubt that. Tell ya what, when you get back, we’ll go somewhere warm to satisfy your spider veins. I got a place in Dubai that––”

“Honestly,” Peter interrupted, shrugging, “I just wanna be home.”

The suit nodded. “Okay. I respect that. I’m sure May has some fun spring break-y activities.”

“No,” Peter said and shook his head. “Home with you.”

“Oh.” The Iron Man suit stood still. “Well, in that case, I _do_ have some fun spring break-y activities planned out for us. None of the inappropriate sort that you see in movies, of course, because you’re fifteen and that would be––”

“Mister Stark.” Peter had let out a small laugh.

“Yes, Mister Parker?”

“I gotta go,” he said.

“Yes–– oh, that reminds me,” said Tony, “you’re definitely in trouble for sneaking away from your class. Bad Spider-Man.”

Peter grinned, backing away toward the roof’s ledge. “Yeah, _yeah_. I’ll see you in two days.”

“See you in two days.” The suit’s repulsors ignited, and it hovered above the ground. “Love ya kid. Stay sticky,” Tony said before lifting off.

Peter chuckled and swung away. He thought about Tony’s words. He thought about how casually he said them, and Peter’s smile only grew the more the thought consumed him. Tony Stark loved him. _His dad._


	12. the toy truck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter needs a little pick-me-up after a minor incident, and Tony has just the thing.

**August 2017.**

“That’s a funny way to spell _pringle_.”

“Pete––”

Peter snickered and fell back against the driver’s seat. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Okay. My bad. So, I just put it into reverse?”

Tony had considered building a completely new car for this moment in particular. He spent the past forty-eight hours in an espresso-induced frenzy, darting around his workshop while Peter kept his nose stuffed in an SAT book. But Tony wasn’t even worried about how his kid would do on the SATs––why would he? The kid passed all of his classes with flying colors. Instead, Tony worried about the birthday boy’s latest achievement: being old enough to legally drive.

Tony was sure he would go completely gray by the time Peter got his license.

The topic hadn’t been brought up for a while–– Tony secretly hoped it never would. And suddenly, the kid was talking his ear off. It was _Mister Stark _this and _Mister Stark _that, all questions and concerns containing mentions of the vehicular variety. Peter couldn’t hold his breath if he tried. He just wanted to learn how to drive, and he wanted Tony to teach him.

“Don’t worry,” Peter had said earlier, “I learn fast.”

That made Tony laugh. “Just because you can bypass a firewall in five minutes, Mister Parker, doesn’t mean you’ll learn how to _drive_ in five minutes.”

“You have no faith in me,” Peter replied.

“I have faith that one day I’ll have faith in you.”

“_Ha-ha_. Very funny.”

Now, Tony had a tight grip on the passenger seat beneath him. He had faith in Peter, _sure_, but it wasn’t the idea of him driving that sent Tony into a panic. Truly, it was having to see Peter behind the wheel––seeing Peter grow up right before his eyes––that made Tony’s stomach flip. He remembered when Peter learned how to ride a bike. Not that Tony had necessarily _been_ there when Peter first learned, but, nevertheless, he still remembered it.

“Easy on the gas now, kiddo,” Tony had instructed. “You’ll be on the road in no time.”

The so-called “no time” came faster than Tony assumed. Where Peter lacked in diligence, he made up for in determination. But then again, he was Tony’s son. The finish line shined brighter than the careful thinking it took to get there. Luckily for Peter, he had the world’s best teacher. Within the first few weeks, they were on the backstreets of Queens, and the kid had only braked twice for a plastic bag in the middle of the road.

The lull in conversation was unsettling. Tony kept his window open for fresh air and a bit of void-filling noise, meanwhile, Peter kept quiet. He said the silence helped him focus. Music was too distracting, and no matter the volume, it was always too loud. Tony didn’t know the extent of Peter’s abilities, nor did he know how they affected him negatively. _Too much input_ is what Peter called it. There was always too much input.

Tony glanced at Peter. “Jesus, Pete, what’d the steering wheel ever do to you?”

“Huh?” Peter looked down at his hands––although, they looked more like claws by that point––and loosened his death grip. “Oh.”

“Relax.” Tony chuckled. “Got something on your mind, Mr. Krabs?”

“No, uh––” Peter stretched his fingers. “Wait–– how do you even know who that is?”

Tony shrugged. “I was on that show for like, two seconds.”

Peter gawked at Tony, eyes nearly bulging as he exclaimed, “You _what?! _You were on _Spongebob_ and you never told me?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “Played Tony Carp.”

Peter snickered. “_Tony Carp._”

“It was a really low moment for me.”

“Uh-huh.”

Tony twisted his body to face Peter. “Okay, I can feel you judging me,” he said, articulating words with his hands. “It’s literally radiating off of you. It was one episode, kid. Wipe that smirk off your face.”

“I’m not––” Peter covered his mouth with his hand. “I’m not smirking.”

“Both hands on the wheel, Pete.”

Peter set his hand back down, but the smile was still there. For a moment, he was silent, but it didn’t last that long. He looked back over at Tony. “I can’t believe you were on an episode of _Spongebob _and you never told me.”

“Peter Benjamin Parker, if you don’t––”

The sounds of metal crunching and scraping crawled up Tony’s spine. His body was pulled forward with the force of impact, but he quickly fell back against the seat as the airbag inflated before him. Tony winced as sparks of pain grazed his cheeks, and this time, _his_ hands were like claws against his thighs. It all felt like a punch to the face, and then it was over. It was over so quickly.

He didn’t think too much about it–– he didn’t care about the car or the state it was in. He didn’t care about the bruises sizzling around his eye or the blood trickling down his lip. Tony clutched his chest as the airbag collapsed, and he looked at the boy behind the wheel. Peter was frozen in shock, tears slipping down his red cheeks. His nose had broken and bled onto his shirt, and his fingers were still stuck to the steering wheel.

“Pete,” Tony breathed out and reached a hand out to grab the kid’s shoulder. He shook it gently. “Pete. Hey.”

A few more tears slipped down as Peter’s expression collapsed. But, he was silent, and he didn’t move.

Tony’s heart raced, and he was unable to take a deep breath through his tightening lungs. It hardly mattered anyway. He couldn’t think about anything but Peter. _Peter. Peter. Is Peter okay? Peter. Help Peter. Save Peter_. Tony let out a sharp exhale as he fumbled with his seatbelt. He reached over and released Peter’s, but the kid still hadn’t moved.

“Kiddo,” Tony mumbled, resting a hand behind Peter’s head.

Peter’s eyes met Tony’s. They were wide, bloodshot and watery, almost like they had seen much more than the cracked windshield and shattered bumper of the car before them.

“You okay?” Tony breathed out.

Peter blinked.

“How hurt are you? Can you–– can you move?”

“I’m––” Peter’s bottom lip trembled. “I’m so sorry.”

Tony shook his head. He didn’t want to hear apologies. He refused to hear apologies. “Doesn’t matter, Pete. Just wanna make sure you’re okay, okay?”

Peter nodded.

“Let’s get you out,” Tony said, glancing over at the car in front of them. The driver was pacing with a phone to their ear. “Okay? I’ll do the talkin’. Don’t worry.”

Once again, Peter nodded.

Tony rushed out of the car after that, shaking hands fumbling for any object he could hold onto. A light stream of smoke rose from the smashed hood, meanwhile, the other driver stared at Tony in disbelief. Whether it was angered disbelief or starstruck disbelief, he didn’t want to deal with it.

“Tony Stark,” the person said. “Tony fucking Stark hit my car.”

Tony felt the panic rise once he opened Peter’s door. The kid was dry heaving, sobs shuddering through his upper body, and the blood around his nose had dried. Tony had seen worse accidents–– he had _been_ in worse accidents. But right away, he understood the shock that Peter felt. He understood the guilt and disappointment.

“C’mon, Pete, you’re all right,” Tony muttered, pulling Peter up by the elbows. The poor kid looked like he had seen death, and that scared Tony the most. “You’re all right.”

Peter could hold his own weight, but he didn’t want to. He fell into Tony and tossed his arms around the Armani suit. Peter held on tighter than he ever had; for a moment, Tony thought the world was ending. And if he knew any better, he would say that the accident had nothing to do with the overall distress Peter felt.

“You’re okay,” Tony whispered. He held Peter close and kissed his forehead. “You’re okay.”

___

The car meant little to Tony. He knew it was a privileged point of view, of course–– any billionaire would say the same. Totaling a car was like tossing a tissue. He didn’t think about the logistics. He never bothered with insurance because he always had the money to cover the expense. He never saw the world the way anyone else did. The way Peter did. It had been a wake-up call that weekend when he came to visit. He kept quiet with his head down in a textbook, and Tony couldn’t ignore the sad––albeit totally weird and very uncomfortable––tension in the room. The silence was thick with unspoken confessions, meanwhile, Tony could practically hear the apologies echoing in his brain.

It was his responsibility to initiate the conversation. He was a dad after all. It felt more surreal in Peter’s presence; Tony still wasn’t sure if it was true. Was that _really_ his kid? Tony saw it in Peter’s eyes and in his smile. But otherwise, Peter wasn’t like Tony–– not in the slightest. Peter led with his heart and his brain. Tony just _led._ He had never been a compassionate person, but he wanted to be. For the kid’s sake. He wanted to push beyond his comedic tendencies and cut straight to the fatherly love part of the job. He never knew how to handle serious situations. He was inappropriate jokes and poorly-timed comebacks. And then Peter came in, and suddenly, Tony didn’t have the same heart anymore.

Sounds of sniffing filled the room. Tony couldn’t sit another minute while the guilt of _Peter’s_ guilt ate away at him. The sight of him so upset and dejected made Tony sick to his stomach. He had every opportunity to be the father he had always wanted for himself, but he didn’t know how. He figured he never would.

“One more sniff outta you and you’re getting pineapple on your pizza tonight,” he said, tapping on metal tables as he made his way toward his desk. Tony kept his eyes locked on Peter, and his gaze narrowed as he waited on the kid’s reaction. But there was nothing. Peter didn’t even look up from his book. “Hey, kiddo?”

Peter hummed.

“What’s the matter?”

He shrugged and mumbled out a meek, “nothing,” but the word was muffled by his sleeve.

“Totally got me convinced over here, Oscar the Grouch,” Tony replied.

Peter shrugged again. “I’m not––” Sniff. “I’m not grouchy.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m _not_.”

Tony’s expression crumbled a bit at the force in Peter’s tone. He had a few billion reasons to constantly be upset with Tony, but for once, that wasn’t the case. Peter wasn’t frustrated nor humiliated over a mistake that he made as Spider-Man. Peter was, however, humiliated over a mistake he made as Peter Parker. Tony could read it on the kid’s composure, yet he didn’t know how to address it.

“You upset about the accident?” Tony asked after a few moments of silence. The white noise buzzed in his ear.

Peter shifted in his seat, and he didn’t say anything. That told Tony enough.

“It’s just a car, Pete.”

There was another sniff and then a quick shake of the head. “It’s not––” Peter sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I-It was your car. I wrecked _your_ car.”

“What does that even––”

“I wrecked your car, Mister Stark!” Peter exclaimed suddenly, voice cracking as he looked up with watery eyes. “You trusted me to drive your car, and I-I wrecked it. I let you down. I’m sorry. It’s dumb. I just–– I should’ve––” Peter let out another sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Tony bit the inside of his cheek. “Okay, first of all,” he said, sitting down on a stool across from Peter, “what have I said about apologizing more than once?”

Peter’s shoulders slumped. “Sorry.”

“_Secondly_,” Tony continued and narrowed his gaze, “it’s not dumb. Accidents happen. That’s why they’re called accidents. I’ve started wars with accidents. Sokovia? One big fuckin’ accident. But then I got it right. And then, well, I made more accidents. Point is, kiddo, you learn from accidents. I’m not upset about the car. It’s a car. I mean, look who you’re talkin’ to.”

Peter smiled weakly.

“If anything,” said Tony. “I _want_ you to make accidents.”

“I’ve made too many.”

Tony chuckled. “That’s just ‘cos you’re related to me.”

“So, it’s pretty much all your fault,” Peter said as his smile widened a bit.

“You watch yourself, Parker.”

Peter laughed, and the once sad, weird, and totally uncomfortable tension faded away. The kid had every right to be upset and to allow his guilt to linger. It was Tony’s job to help ease it all. It was Tony’s job to make sure Peter had the support he needed to feel better. _Physically_, however, that was hardly necessary. Tony still had bruises while Peter’s nose had healed up completely by that night.

Tony knocked his knuckles against the table. He wore his thinking face loud and proud, lips twisting as his eyebrows knitted together. It was going to take a while for Peter to believe everything that Tony said. If the kid was anything like him––which he was and he wasn’t, he would wallow in pity and keep it bottled shut for as long as possible. It would burst eventually, but only in self-destructive forms. That was who Tony was through-and-through: self-destructive. And he didn’t want Peter to end up like him.

Tony stood. “Okay,” he said. “I wanna show you something. Don’t get your hopes up, though. It’s underwhelming.”

Peter’s stool screeched as he rose to follow. “What is it?” he asked, stepping around unfinished suits and unknown projects that had no chance of being completed.

Tony had never been one for nostalgia. He never sunk deep into the past; if it consumed him, he knew it would hold him back. So, he pushed forward. But, when 2005 came and went, he made an exception.

He led Peter across the workshop, beyond the heavy tech, and past the whirring robotic arms. There was a small corner left untouched where a few dusty shelves sat. They were full of books that Tony never read and picture frames that had been placed there by Pepper. And on the middle shelf––with four tiny wheels and an inked underbelly written by itsy-bitsy himself––was a toy truck.

“See,” said Tony. “Told you. Underwhelming.”

Peter looked up at him, confusion clear in his expression. “A truck?”

“You gonna look at it or just stand there and make your old man feel like he’s goin’ crazy?” Tony folded his arms and tilted his head.

Peter picked up the truck after that, eyebrows refusing to unfurrow as he handled the delicate object with care. A smile found its way onto Tony’s face after that. Seeing the kid with the truck again meant more than he thought it would. Tony hadn’t imagined it before–– he hadn’t imagined being a part of Peter’s life. It was a twelve-year reunion, and Peter didn’t even realize. And then he turned the truck over.

Tony watched the realization wash over Peter. The smile only grew. That was his son, his fucking _son_, and he was so proud.

“This was mine?” Peter whispered.

Tony nodded once their eyes met.

“I don’t–– I don’t understand.”

“Well––” Tony began as he took the toy into his own hands. He hadn’t held it in years either, and the memories of that day came rushing back. “You see, when I first met you and your lovely aunt, you were only four––of course, you know that already. You were playing with your trucks, and I thought, _what the hell, I might as well join_. So, I sat with ya, and you handed me this very odd_-_looking truck. Apparently, you made it. I was like, _shit, maybe this is my kid_. Figured I’d fight for you. And then you left before I could give it back.”

Peter frowned. “And-– and you kept it?”

“_Pft_, of course,” said Tony. “Believe it or not, you made me want to be a dad. I was in my mid-thirties and still fucking around with whatever I could get my hands on. The minute I met you, I saw a new future for myself.”

Peter didn’t say anything. He glanced down at his hands and fidgeted with his fingers, meanwhile, there was a smile tugging on his lips. Perhaps Tony hadn’t made Peter feel better about the accident, but in that moment, he had forgotten about it. Accident or not, Peter still knew that Tony loved him. He always would. 


	13. infinity and beyond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony loses Peter.

**2018.**

Tony wasn’t going to admit it, but his nightmares had come true.

He saw catastrophe and reckoning shaping the future. He saw the ones he loved suffer because of his own mistakes. He saw heartbreak, bloodshed, warfare, and torture all wrapped into one dynamic, sweat-drenched dream. His hands shook when he awoke, and Pepper was always there to console him. But even she could not stop what was bound to come. Tony had already come to terms with it, yet he wanted to believe it wasn’t true.

And then the nightmares stopped for one beautiful night.

There was a child in his head, a small, innocent child there to fill his days with love and peace. Tony wondered what it meant–– if it meant anything at all. Why would he dream about having a kid when he already had a web-slinging vigilante to worry about? A web-slinging vigilante who _also_ happened to be his son. Nevertheless, Tony’s child-filled dream had him walking with vigor. Perhaps it was the universe’s way of telling him that everything would be okay.

But, of course, it never happened that way.

The witch doctor was first, the stuttery Banner was second, and the massive floating donut in the heart of the city came third. This was the start of the end, and Tony wanted to close his eyes and wish it all away.

While his hope laid in the hands of his brand-spankin’-new nanotech suit, there wasn’t much more he could do. In a flash, Peter was there, and Tony had to keep fighting. He had to fight beyond the terror wracking his brain. It was chaos. Pure, unsolicited chaos–– and his son had gotten himself involved.

_“Uh, Mister Stark, I’m being beamed up.”_

Tony’s senses were overwhelmed. He was debilitated by Peter’s words, yet his mind had found the time to reminisce over an unpleasant memory. The past six years melted away, and the wormhole was back. Tony was falling and falling and––

Instead, he flew. He didn’t know where the battle would take him or if he would ever come back. But he knew he would never stop trying. He would never stop fighting. And Peter was up there, too. Tony would never leave Peter.

Of the many, _many_ terrible ideas that Tony regretted, recruiting his own son had always been one of them. No matter how many suits Tony made or how much advice he could give, his nightmares were still flooded with flashes of Peter’s demise. All because of Spider-Man. All because Tony had allowed it in the first place. Because he _encouraged_ it. He wished for a normal life––no powers, no suits, and no giant, murderous purple aliens involved. He wished that their lives were guaranteed to be long and prosperous. If Tony couldn’t grant it for himself, the least he could do was give it to Peter.

He sent his kid soaring home in a new suit. Hopefully, the world would still be okay as long as Peter lived on it.

And then Pepper called. Tony had gone completely numb.

She was safe, and Peter was safe. If Tony could avenge them, then he had something to live and die for. He had a responsibility to them. He had a legacy to withhold. He didn’t have the time to think about losing them–– about _them_ losing _him_. All he had was now.

Suddenly, it wasn’t about that anymore. Peter’s presence was familiar, almost as if he radiated positive energy wherever he stepped or swung. Tony could feel his throat closing up as he traced every line on the kid’s face.

“You should not be here,” Tony whispered sharply. He thought his heart had stopped.

Peter lifted his hands in defense. “I was gonna go home––”

“I don’t wanna hear it.”

“But it was such a long way down,” he said, “and I just thought about you on the way––”

“And now I gotta hear it,” Tony muttered. His wrist ached. His stomach ached. Everything ached, and he didn’t know how to shake it.

“And I kinda stuck to the side of the ship,” Peter continued in a typical, innocent tone. “And this suit is _ridiculously_ intuitive, by the way. So, if anything, it's kinda your fault that I'm here.”

“What did you just say?”

“I take that back,” he said. “And now I'm here in space.”

“Yeah.” Tony took a breath as he stepped forward. He tried not to let his terror influence his words. “Right where I don't want you to be. This isn't Coney Island, kiddo. This isn't a goddamn field trip. It's a one-way ticket. That’s it. No going back. You–– you hear me? Don't pretend like you thought this through. You could not have possibly thought this through.”

“No, I did think this through.”

“You could _not_ have possibly thought this through.”

Peter’s expression crumbled slightly. “It’s just–– you can't be a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man when there's no neighborhood.” He paused. “Okay. That didn't really make any sense, but you know what I'm trying to say.”

And Tony hated that he did. He hated that no matter how angry or scared he was, no matter how much he wished that Peter was safe at home with a teddy bear and a glass of milk, there was no use dwelling on it any further. Tony needed to care about the mission, otherwise, his wishes had little probability of ever coming true. He needed to trust Spider-Man. He needed to trust Peter.

Tony exhaled shakily and nodded. “Come on. We got a situation.”

___

“Mister Stark?”

Tony felt empty. The wound in his side stung with every breath, and he knew he would never feel whole again. The scent of stone, metal, and blood filled his nostrils, but Peter was still there. Peter was still okay. They were alone in space with nothing but each other. The orange sky suddenly didn’t look so bad after all.

But they still lost.

First, it was the newbies. The antenna’d gal, Mister Clean, and Quill. Their ashes faded into the horizon, and Tony watched in horror. They lost. This was how they lost. All they were was dust in the wind, and Tony didn’t have the energy to appreciate the pun.

And then Strange was next, telling Tony that there was no other way. His existence filtered into the atmosphere like the others. _There was no other way_. They lost. Had they always been meant to lose?

Tony turned to Peter. The past six years no longer mattered in the discomfort of the kid’s wide gaze. It was 2005 again, and Tony was looking into new eyes. He spent every day counting blessings and rubbing his thumb along the wheels of Peter’s toy truck. There was an innocence that Tony had never noticed before. He saw his own eyes staring back at him that day. He saw his smile, and he heard his laugh. He saw his future for a brief moment in time. Peter Parker was meant to be a part of Tony Stark’s life.

And now, Peter Parker was leaving it.

“I don’t feel so good,” he said.

Tony chalked it up to the battle. “You’re all right,” he replied, hopeful. He wanted to find every single excuse as to why Peter felt the way he did. But it was his kid, his intellectual, spidey-sensed kid who found danger before it ever happened.

Peter stumbled forward. “I don't know what's–– I don't know what's happening. I don't––” He collapsed into Tony, fingers clutching tightly as tears began to fall. “I don’t wanna go,” he cried out. “I don’t wanna go, Mister Stark. Please. _Please_, I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go––”

Tony couldn’t breathe as he leaned over the kid, heart racing while Peter’s expression relaxed. There was nothing else Tony could do except look down at him in horror. There was nothing else. No corny joke or sarcastic comment. No glimmer or spark in his smile. Just Peter staring up at his dad as his body disintegrated into the air of a planet other than their own. Just Peter slowly dying in Tony’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered one last time.

Tony felt weightless, but he wasn’t fading. His hands were empty. The ash of his son floated around him and quickly disappeared, and that was it. They had lost. Tony had lost. He had failed, and he had lost his son.

He leaned forward on his knees and closed his eyes.

___

He saw Peter’s death every day. He saw it distant stars and gas clouds surrounding the ship. He saw it in the dirt on his hands and the wounds in his skin. He saw it in his declining health, and he felt it in his broken heart. Peter was gone, and Tony had given up on his chances.

“This thing on?”

The helmet lit the dark space, scanning his tired body as he leaned back and took a few deep breaths. It still hurt to breathe, and he worried about using too much oxygen. But it hardly mattered anymore.

“Hey, Miss Potts,” he began. “Pep. If you find this recording, don’t post it on social media. It’s gonna be a real tear-jerker.” The skin beneath his eyes burned as the words left his mouth. “I don’t know if you’re ever going to see these. I don’t even know if you’re–– if you’re still–– Oh god, I hope so. Today is day twenty-one–– uh, twenty-_two_.”

He sighed. “If it wasn't for the existential terror of staring into a void of space,” he spoke quietly, keeping eerily still in fear of losing his composure, “I'd say I'm feeling better today. The infection’s run its course thanks to the blue meanie back there. You’d love her. Very practical. Only a tiny bit sadistic. Some fuel cells were cracked during battle, but we figured out a way to reverse the ion charge to buy ourselves about forty-eight hours of time. But it’s now dead in the water.”

Tony’s fingers trembled. He had lost Peter, potentially Pepper, too, and now he was losing his own sanity.

“We’re a thousand lightyears from the nearest 7-Eleven,” he continued. “Oxygen will run out tomorrow. And that’ll be it.”

Tony stared out into space. Even after three weeks of drifting into nothingness, he still marveled at its beauty. He had never seen it like this. Not even when he slipped into the wormhole six years ago. Maybe now it was finally his time to go.

“I lost him,” he whispered, voice cracking while he connected the dots of faraway stars. “Peter, he––” Tony swallowed, but his mouth was too dry, and his muscles were too weak. A tear slipped down his cheek. “Pep, I–– I know I said no more surprises, but I was really hoping to pull off one last one. But it looks like–– well you know what it looks like. Don't feel bad about this. I mean, if you grovel for a couple of weeks, and then move on with enormous guilt. I should probably lie down. Please know that, when I drift off, I will think about you. _Because it's always you._”

Tony felt weightless again. As his consciousness slipped away, he thought about 2005. He thought about Peter and he thought about Pepper. He had always been so proud of the people he loved. Tony hadn’t been the father he wanted to be, but he still had a few years’ worth of memories. Peter had made Tony a better person. Pepper had made Tony a better person. He had a family, despite its unconventional tradition. He could sleep knowing he had been loved. That he_ had_ loved. Unconditionally.

It was a dreamless sleep, one void of nightmares that haunted him for years. But it only lasted a matter of minutes. Blinding light filtered through his fluttering eyelids. He didn’t want to wake up; he had accepted his loss. Yet, when that light––that beautiful, golden light––warmed his skin, he saw a flicker of hope. He was met with a smile, and he trusted it.

Steve was the first to greet him. Strong, familiar, and friendly arms that had once failed Tony’s confidence kept him steady.

“Couldn’t stop him,” Tony breathed out, relieved that he still had someone to know.

“Neither could I.”

Pepper was there, and Rhodey was there. Nat and Banner, too. Not everyone had left him, Tony thought, but as he stared up at Steve, that hardly crossed his mind. Tony had survived, and the person he lived for didn’t.

“I lost the kid,” he said, the words sour and foreign on his tongue.

“Tony, _we_ lost,” Steve replied.

But he didn’t know. He didn’t understand–– no one would. Tony hadn’t just lost his son, he had lost a part of himself, too.


	14. tony's video diaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few recordings Tony made for Peter over the course of five years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i respect, value, and appreciate ur opinions, but please be gentle. i'm writing this story for fun in the little free time i have. this is a safe space. thank u, love u.
> 
> this one's short, but it's a sad one.

_"Log 1. Date July 14th, 2018.”_

Tony shook his head. “I can’t–– sorry, I can’t do this.”

___

_“Log 2. Date: July 21st, 2018.”_

There was a long moment of silence. Tony stared across the room, a blank expression static on his face. He wondered if things were better left unsaid, but the camera had already begun filming. He pressed his hands down flat against the cool metal workbench.

“Don’t even know where to begin,” he breathed out, swallowing down a harsh build-up of mucus. Wherever his eyes wandered, his thoughts joined. Tony hadn’t been himself in nearly two months. He was caught up in the _what-ifs_. He was lost in his own mind. Every other day was easier than the one before, but then there were days when the progress took a few steps back. There were days when he couldn’t bring it upon himself to get out of bed.

Tony looked at his hands. They had aged. There were scars and calluses, scratches and wrinkles he never knew existed. A million different things had been crafted by these hands alone. But they didn’t feel like his anymore.

“Where did you––” Tony’s fingers curled, and his jaw clenched. The colors and shapes around him blurred, so he blinked the glaze away. “Where did you go, kiddo?” he whispered. “Goin’ _crazy_ without ya. It’s like—”

Sometimes it hurt to speak like it hurt to breathe. Tony couldn’t find his words anymore. They caught on his tongue and decayed his teeth. Everything smelled like the earthy breeze on Titan; his stomach lurched with every inhale.

****“It’s like I forget you’re gone,” he said. He saw red when he closed his eyes. It looked like blood, and it swarmed and consumed, so he kept his eyes open. He rubbed at his knuckles to keep his hands busy. “And, um––”

Tony was tripping on his own thoughts. He spent every day in recovery, slowly regaining his strength while searching for hope in a lawless, half-bitten universe. It was worse than he expected. But, if he were honest, he hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected to lose. And he didn’t know how to move on from there.

“Can’t brush this one off,” Tony muttered, shaking his head. “Can’t pretend it never happened. Can’t joke about it. Can’t–– I can’t––” He inhaled sharply. Tears came fast these days; it never took much, and he was too tired to hold them back. A droplet fell onto his hand. “This fucking sucks,” he said with a chuckle.

The air in his workshop was stale. Everything was cold and gray, stained with the memories of Peter’s light and laughter. This place no longer belonged to Tony. It was an empty shell of what his life had been.

“Pep and I have been talkin’...” he said. A weight settled in his chest as he spoke. “But I can’t–– can’t even _fathom_ the idea of–– _Jesus_, Pete, I-I can’t breathe without thinkin’ of ya. It’s not gonna be easy. It’s never gonna be easy.”

Tony looked directly into the camera. A red light stared back, burning into his corneas until the sensation was too much for him to bear. For a brief moment, he was void of emotion. He had fallen completely numb.

He cleared his throat. “We’re having a service. Small one. Just me, Happy, and Pep. Rhodey, too. He always thought you were a punk._ Punk ass kid_ is what he called you. God, was he right. He said he couldn’t trust someone who planned his attacks based on pop culture references. But now he’s–– he’s apologizing every goddamn day, kiddo. Everyone’s sayin’ sorry as if they had anything t’do with it. I can’t hear another fucking _sorry_.”

Tony pressed a hand against his forehead. His emotions came in waves, ebbing and flowing like a tempest tide. Some days were quiet while others raged. He didn’t know how to be human again.

“We’re having a service for my _kid_,” he mumbled under his breath. The words felt like ice on his tongue. “A sixteen-year-old kid. My own fucking _son_. Why did it have to be you?” He rubbed at his eyes to dry the tears. “Am I–– am I kidding myself? I’m talking to a damn camera, thinkin’ that _maybe––_one day––there’s a chance that you could come back. We could get you back, and you could see this. See how fuckin’ terrible it is here without you. But the stones are gone. You’re gone. All hope is–– it’s just _gone_.”

Tony’s lips trembled as he stared at the ceiling. The skin beneath his eyes ached. He had spent his entire life standing tall while the pedestal beneath him crumbled. It chipped away piece-by-piece, year after year, up until this very moment. Tony’s world had shattered, and he wasn’t strong enough to push through.

He closed his eyes tight. “I just wasn’t ready to say goodbye.”

___

_“Log 38. October 13th, 2018.”_

There was a stool in the corner of the workshop. It sat idle as it collected dust, not a single fingerprint left in the dented metal. Tony wouldn’t touch it–– he _couldn’t _touch it. He would rather watch it burn. Memories were hard to come by, and it was much easier to forget.

“Went to that sandwich place you were tellin’ me about,” he began, eyes flickering toward the camera. They were tired and bloodshot. It looked like he hadn’t slept since June, and it felt like it, too. “The one with the cat. You know it. Can’t say it’s really all that _charming_, but since you liked it so much, I figured I’d give it a shot. They forgot the pickles though, so I give it a six out of ten.”

Tony took a bite as he walked around the workshop. There were large boxes and broken parts scattered amongst untouched belongings, but half of the equipment had been moved into his new place. His new home. He was never at the compound these days. No one had the strength to stick around, and the world didn’t need superheroes anymore.

To save himself from further heartbreak, he chose to move on. But moving on felt like giving up. Moving on felt like the erasure of Peter’s memory.

Tony wasn’t sure what he had been living for prior to Peter.

Tony sighed. “It’s falling apart over here, Pete,” he said as he glanced around the room. Sunbeams leaked in through high windows, and dust particles floated around the illuminated space. It had never looked like this. At least not when Peter was around.

“Gotta say,” Tony whispered, “it’s gettin’ real hard to stay here. I can’t–– I can’t see it without seeing you. You’re supposed t’be doing your homework in your little stool by DUM-E. You’re supposed t-to be testing new suits and webs and climbin’ up walls when I tell you not to. You’re not––” His throat tightened the more he spoke. Even months later, he couldn’t breathe when he thought about Peter. “You’re not supposed to be... wherever the _hell_ you are.”

The silence crept in for a few moments. Birds chirped, and the world carried on, but it felt like the world had stopped for Tony. It felt like he wasn’t alone.

He looked over at the stool in the corner. “Pep and I are thinking about having a kid,” he said. His mouth had gone dry. “It feels–– it feels wrong, but it feels right. And, Pete, you gotta tell me what to do. I’m lookin’ for anything. A sign. Just… _something_. You’re seventeen now–– nearly an adult. You have _some_ jurisdiction when it comes to decision making. I just–– I need to know if I’m being a complete dumbass, or if this is something I just gotta do.”

Tony paused to steady his breathing. His heart didn’t feel quite right, and his hands had grown numb. He was terrified to live another life and carry on like normal. He was terrified of not knowing how to respect and honor Peter’s memory. Tony wished Peter wasn’t just a memory now. He had been much more. He was the stool, the sandwich, all of the stupid jokes, and the offbeat inventions. He was red, blue, black, and gold. He was the starry night and the city skyline. He was in every sight, sound, breath, and touch. Every goddamn square inch of the place was stained with his _fucking_ memory.

The sunlight had touched Peter’s stool. Reflections glimmered against suits and tech across the room, but there was one thing that caught the most light of all. Across the room sat an old prototype for Peter’s first suit. If Tony ever chose to look back at the recording on this day, he was certain he’d find the first genuine smile since his last moments with Peter.

But Tony wasn’t thinking about his smile. He was thinking about the sudden warmth filling his heart. Peter would never truly be gone, and Tony would never forget the memories they shared. It was time for him to make new memories. And it seemed as though Peter approved.

“Thank you, kiddo,” Tony mumbled, glancing back into the camera as if Peter was looking back at him too. “I love you.”

___

_“Log number 132. Date: March 12th, 2020.”_

Tony was sat at the counter in his kitchen, a smile on his face and a young infant perched upon his knee. This wasn’t the first time he had included Morgan in these videos, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. He hardly did them much anymore; he hardly knew why he had bothered recording anything in the first place.

Tony held a spoonful of yogurt in front of his daughter’s mouth. “Open up, Miss Morgan, or it’s goin’ in my tummy instead,” he said. When she refused to comply, he smothered a bit onto her nose, and the room filled with giggles. It was the happiest Tony had felt in a long time.

He had propped his phone on a shelf across the room, its front camera facing them as it recorded every moment. The videos never lasted more than a few minutes now. And they never contained much. Tony kept them stored in an encrypted file in hopes of forgetting about their existence. They had once been for Peter, but Peter was gone. Peter had been gone for a while.

But a part of Tony still refused to believe it.

He gazed over at the phone. “She knows about you, Pete, don’t worry. I’ll keep tellin’ her until she tells me to shut up. So, I might not ever teach her those words just to be safe.” Tony bounced her on his knee, and once again, the giggles echoed. “I used to make these kinds of videos back before we even met, kiddo. Not that I’m big on nostalgia, of course, I just prefer speaking over writing. And I’ve been told that journaling keeps the mind sane. Clearly, it’s never worked for me.”

“I kinda hope that maybe I’m not doin’ it for nothing,” Tony continued. Meanwhile, Morgan was playing with a handful of Cheerios on the counter below. “That maybe you’re still out there, floating around somewhere, and you’ll someday see that I–– you know what? It doesn’t even matter anymore. I’m just ranting for the sake of ranting. You good there, Little Miss?”

Morgan looked up at him with her big brown eyes, and Tony smiled. She looked a little like Peter, but that was because he had always looked a little like Tony.

Tony scrunched up his nose. “I think it’s diapy-change time. Up we go.” As he stood, he hoisted Morgan into his arms before walking toward the phone. Tony carried on talking to her. “What we’re not gonna do is roll around in our own poo while daddy remembers where he put the wipes, okay? Mommy nearly had my head on a––”

The video cut off after that.

___

_“Log 215. Date: October 10th, 2023.”_

Tony’s hands were warm as he looked around the room. Old machinery had been left behind, untouched within the past five years. Spare parts and stray boxes were scattered, and tarps were draped over large equipment too heavy to be moved. The room was still cold. It was still empty, and he hadn’t stepped foot in it since.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony spoke into the dry, dense air. “Sorry we haven’t talked in a bit. I’ve been otherwise… preoccupied. But there’s good news. Great news, actually.” Tony’s voice was hoarse, but he carried on without wavering. “Figured out time travel last night. It was–– uh, yeah, it was pretty damn cool if I say so myself. So, we’re gonna do it I think. We’re gonna find a way to go back in time, fuck more shit up, and maybe––just _maybe_––we can get you back…”

His words faded off once his eyes met a familiar object in the corner of the room. A stool with a thick layer of dust, frozen in time despite the years passed. Tony smiled.

“Yeah,” he whispered. He allowed the tears to fall this time. “We’ll get ya back, kiddo. See you soon.”


	15. tony and peter at the way station

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Tony snaps his fingers, he isn't completely alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is short and fast-paced bc i wanted to include a bit of eg stuff, but i didn't want to overdo it. so the next chapter will be more fluff lol 
> 
> a part of me doesn't even like anything i wrote here but i also feel like it's essential to have? if that makes sense??? like i can't write the final chapter without this one ://
> 
> anyway, hope u like even tho it's all over the place

Tony had regained consciousness at the right time. He awoke surrounded by dirt and rocks, and the sky above resembled painting with its swirling oranges and yellows. Tony thought he was on Titan again for a moment. He thought that the past few years had been a dream. But he couldn’t mistake losing and regaining hope in a never-ending cycle, and now he was blinking up at those sparkling holes in the atmosphere.

He had seen that before.

Tony’s stomach lurched as he scrambled to his feet. Strangers and familiar faces poured out of the portals, but he searched for one in particular. Five years. Five whole years without seeing that smile and hearing that laughter. Five years of staring at pictures and a dumb toy truck while sinking deeper and deeper into guilt. Tony had lived five years without Peter.

Moving on from losing a son had been too hard for Tony. He spent hundreds of nights stirring in his terrors, sweating and screaming through a perpetual ache that never truly went away. Pepper did all she could. Tony knew it would take time, and it did. And now he was fighting his way through the crowds of previously deceased, knocking shoulders and gripping limbs just to find the one person he thought he had lost forever.

“Peter!” he cried out, pushing through the crowd of unknown bodies. But there were too many. “_Peter!_” he called once more, and then everyone began to run. Tony had to run, too. There was still a battle. He was still caught in the midst of a war he thought had ended five years ago. So, he soared high.

“FRIDAY,” he said as he dodged and blasted at alien ships, “is there–– is he down there?”

_“I have detected vitals in the Iron Spider Mark II, boss.”_

Tony’s repulsors sputtered. “Okay, okay,” he whispered, glancing down, but there was too much congestion in the sky to be distracted. “Shit, okay.”

_“Miss Potts is also here in the Rescue suit_._”_

“Dammit,” Tony muttered. “I fucking hate Thanos.”

Tony dipped below, meeting the ground in haste as the ugly alien ambushed. He was tired–– _God_, he was so tired. No amount of preparation had been primal in guaranteeing success. Whatever the witch doctor saw, Tony just hoped they were doing it right.

He wasn’t sure what he was firing at anymore––if he was even firing at all. Adrenaline had gotten the best of him, and for a moment, he thought he would be squashed like a bug in front of every soul he knew. And then a string of web caught the giant from stepping any farther.

Tony was frozen in place. Suddenly, everyone disappeared. The world was calm again, and birds flew happily towards a clear horizon. Green grass swayed in the breeze while children laughed in the distance. Everything was perfect again, but only for that brief moment in time.

Peter ran up to Tony, frantically spewing words he could hardly digest. That was Peter. It was Peter’s voice, Peter’s words. Peter’s hair, eyes, ears, nose, and hands. It was Peter. _Peter was back. _Tony didn’t know if he could believe it, so he stared. He stared as if the kid had come back from the dead.

And he _had._

Tony pressed a hand to Peter’s cheek. He wasn’t real. He couldn’t be real.

“Hey,” Peter said, eyebrows furrowing. “You okay?”

The fight carried on beside them, but they stood untouched. They stood with a million thoughts swirling around their heads, hearts racing and slowing together. And Tony could hardly breathe.

He shook his head over and over. “Are you––” Tony placed his other hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Are you_ real?_” he breathed out.

Peter chuckled, but as soon as his smile came, it also fell. “Y-yeah. Why wouldn’t I be real?”

Tony’s expression contorted, lips twisting and eyes squinting while he continued to take in his kid’s presence. He hadn’t aged, not like Tony. Peter was supposed to be in his twenties. He was supposed to be out of college and making new plans for his life. He was supposed to be heading home for the holidays and introducing Tony to his friends or partners. He wasn’t supposed to be stuck at sixteen. He wasn’t supposed to be blinking up at Tony as if the past five years had only been a dreamless sleep.

Tony allowed a smile as a few tears fell. “No reason,” he whispered, pulling Peter in for a hug. He held him tight and closed his eyes. “I missed you, kiddo.”

___

Tony’s emotions had gotten in the way.

He was furious, and he was scared. He wanted to win, he needed them to _win_, and then Strange held that one _goddamn_ finger. Tony knew what had to be done. It was the one out of fourteen million–– _he_ was the one out of fourteen million.

As the power of the stones surged through his body, he kept his eyes locked on Thanos. There wasn’t anything else, at least not at that moment. It was about winning and pushing through the pain to hold on until the end. It wasn’t about the last five years or the next five years after that. It was about avenging every person who stood before them, their breaths falling in sync while they wiped away blood, sweat, and tears. Tony was doing it for them. For Peter.

_Peter_. Where was Peter?

His voice was in the distance, calling for something, for someone. The shouts grew louder as electricity coursed through Tony’s bloodstream. It felt as though his heart was shriveling in his chest.

“No, _no! _Mister Stark. Let me–– no, please, let me get to him. Let me go. Stop, please!”

A body landed in front of Tony. The glow of the stones slithering against his skin reflected on the familiar metal suit before him. Peter collapsed against his side.

“Mister Stark,” he cried. “Stop. What are you doing? Please. I’m here. I’m back. Tony_, please. _Don’t leave me.”

“Foolish child,” tutted the Titan. “Just like your father.”

Tony couldn’t speak; it hurt to move and it hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. He couldn’t even look at Peter. He couldn’t feel the kid grabbing onto his arm, and he could barely hear the pleads and cries. He only had one thought on his mind:

Make the world a better place for his family.

The pain trickled away as he moved his fingers. Peter’s cries were sharp and jarring, almost as if he was in pain as well. Was he in pain? Did he feel it too? Tony wanted it to stop–– he just wanted to be okay again. And now Peter was sobbing against his armor.

_Peter was alive. Peter was there. Peter was alive._

Tony snapped his fingers, and the world turned white.

___

When he opened his eyes, he saw his hand. His bare, unscathed hand floating above a sea of orange and red. There was no armor, no debris scattered beneath his feet, and no sign of life. He could breathe and blink without pain flowing down his wrist. Tony shakily turned his hand around and stared at his fingers. He touched his chest, he touched the air–– he thought it was over. He thought it was finally _over_, and now he was somewhere unfamiliar once again. And Peter wasn’t there anymore.

Tony swallowed thickly and looked around the sacred space. It was terrifyingly beautiful, and every step he took felt like wading a shallow ocean in heaven. The horizon was endless. It suddenly didn’t matter where he was or why he was there, because in the distance, standing all alone, was a child in an Iron Man helmet.

_Nice work, kid._

He used to believe that he didn’t deserve Peter. He still believed it. No matter how many mistakes Peter made, and no matter how many Tony happened to make, he would never deserve the Peter. He would never deserve the person he grew up to be.

Tony let out a shaky breath. Every step was carefully crafted as he walked toward the kid. They had been pulled from the depths of an old memory, something Tony had treasured for thirteen years and counting. He couldn’t believe it had been that long. Thirteen years since the night he first saved Peter’s life. Eighteen years since he first met Peter. Tony never noticed how fast the time had flown by.

“Long way from home, kiddo?” Tony asked quietly, his lips tugging into a smile. His chest was warm, but it still ached. He had a feeling as to why he was here.

The boy shook his head. “I’m already home,” he said, lifting the mask to expose his toothy grin. “You’re my home.”

Tony's smile faltered. “I, uh–– _shit_.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. But he quickly regained his composure, smiled once more, and knelt down to the boy’s level. “Pete,” Tony muttered, setting a hand down on his shoulder. “Did I–– did I make a mistake?”

Peter shook his head again. “You saved the world. That’s not a mistake. It’s freaking awesome.”

“Freaking awesome,” Tony whispered, brushing a few strands of hair away from Peter’s eyes. “I’m scared, Pete. I don’t wanna lose you again. I can’t— I just got you back.”

“You won’t lose me, dad,” said Peter. He took his helmet off completely and handed it to Tony. “You’re Iron Man. Iron Man never loses.”

Tony furrowed his eyebrows. “What’re you sayin’, kiddo?

Peter smiled. “You won. You gotta go back home now.”

“Home…” Tony glanced over his shoulder at the orange sea behind them. “Did I— am I—” He met Peter’s gaze again. The kid was still smiling. Tony had wanted to know Peter like this, but he never got the chance. And he didn’t know how to ask the one question that was on his mind.

Peter put a hand on Tony’s head and patted. “You’re okay, dad. Don’t cry. You still got time.”

Tony smiled weakly as he looked at the boy before him. His eyes were warm and loving. The world hadn’t yet hurt him like it had hurt the Peter that Tony knew now. Those eyes were hard to come by now. “I’m okay, Pete,” he whispered, pulling him into a hug. “I won’t cry anymore.”

Tony pulled away after a few moments. He hadn’t wanted to let go; he didn’t know what would happen if he did. So, he kissed Peter’s forehead and carried on smiling. “You behave now,” Tony said as he stood and gave back the helmet. “Or I’ll tell May that you snuck off. No computer for a week.”

Peter pouted.

Tony chuckled and ruffled the kid’s hair. The moment was surreal, but it had eased his fears. He still had something to live for. “Love you, kiddo,” he said, giving one last glance at the kid he had always longed to know.

Peter grinned. “Love ya, too, dad.”

“See you in a minute.”


	16. the real heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wakes up a few days after the final snap.

_“No, no! Mister Stark. Let me–– no, please, let me get to him. Let me go. Stop, please!”_

Peter inhaled sharply. The pain had subsided–– but why? Had he dusted away again? Titan’s sky looked nothing like the one he saw now. It was terrifyingly beautiful. An endless sea and a sunset sheen on the horizon. He hadn’t dusted away, but he wasn’t sure if he was alive.

Peter remembered the feeling like it had only been five minutes ago, not five years. He remembered his brain telling him it was okay to let go, and he remembered his body crumbling and healing, crumbling and healing, crumbling, crumbling, _fading_–– until it all became too much. He managed a few final words before his vision turned black, and then he awoke a moment later. It had been five years, and Tony wasn’t there anymore.

_Tony._

Tony hadn’t seen Peter in five years. It dawned on him as he webbed through lasers, monsters, and everything his Sci-Fi novels said were impossible for the real world. None of this was supposed to be Peter’s life. He had been a normal kid from Queens who cried when his idol slipped through that wormhole in the city. He had been normal, but that was so long ago. It had been _five years_ since Peter last _existed_.

And when Peter first saw Tony, or rather, when _Tony_ first saw _Peter_, he finally understood the severity of it all. The question, “are you real?” rattled around his head. He was real. Had there been moments when he wasn’t? Peter couldn’t help but sink into guilt as he wondered about the past five years. He wondered if Tony had grieved.

But Peter didn’t have the same to sit and wallow in thinking about his own death. He didn’t understand much, yet he knew how complex the stones were. He knew gauntlet needed to stay away from the big purple dude, and he knew that the stones were more powerful than Peter could ever imagine. So, when he saw Tony wielding all six of them, Peter knew––he could _sense_––the danger behind their united capabilities.

Tony wasn’t just suffering. Tony was dying. His dad was dying.

_“_ _Mister Stark. Stop. What are you doing? Please. I’m here. I’m back. Tony, please. Don’t leave me.”_

Peter didn’t know what else to do. He held onto Tony because that was all he _could _do. There was death around the corner, and there was pain. There was so much pain_. _But Peter couldn’t let go. He wasn’t going to lose another father.

The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It sliced through his muscles, stretching and scraping every nerve decorating his system. Trails of light seeped into his suit, scalding his skin until the smell of melting flesh was all he could think about. He could feel the screams curdling through his throat, but he couldn’t hear them anymore. He could only feel, and he felt so much. He felt the heat stinging in his chest and up his neck, all the way back down his shoulders and into his hands. He felt like he was burning alive.

And suddenly, Peter was no longer in pain. He stood, ankle-deep in water while the warm colors around him soothed his panic. A breeze slipped through his fingers as he examined his arms. There were no burns or marks from alien talons. It was just him in normal clothes, looking over a limitless ocean.

“You know, kid, you’re smart,” said a voice from behind him, “but sometimes you can be a real idiot.”

Peter’s spine seized. He knew that voice like he knew the back of his hand. Slowly, he twisted around as his curiosity spiked. If they were both there, then that meant they both were dead; right?

He had never seen Tony in a suit quite like that before. It was pure white, neatly pressed and fitted in every way, and a pale pink ascot was tied around his neck. A pair of clunky sunglasses sat upon his nose. And he looked younger–– _much_ younger. Peter almost wanted to laugh.

Tony smiled, and he took a few long strides forward. “You––” he began, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “––are not supposed to be here. What on earth were you thinkin’, kiddo?”

Peter furrowed his brows. “Are you–– am I dead?”

Tony chuckled. “Really? That’s the first thing you ask?”

Peter didn’t speak.

“No, you’re not dead,” the older man continued. “In fact, you are the exact reason why I’m _not_. You’ve no idea how many times you saved my life, Pete.”

“I’m sorry, I’m confused,” Peter said as he hugged his arms against his chest. “Where did–– how did you–– how’d you get here?”

Tony shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not really sure, and I have no idea where the door is in this place. If you see any big red exit signs, lemme know.” He glanced around before meeting Peter’s eyes again. “Last I remember, we had those things in 2005.”

“2005…”

Tony stifled a laugh and placed an arm over Peter’s shoulder. “You’ve come a long way, kid,” Tony said as they walked. “Of course, you’d probably be dead if it wasn’t for me. But then again, it works both ways.” There was a long moment of silence, and Peter could practically hear the thoughts buzzing in the man’s head. “I’m really proud of you, y’know.”

Peter’s lips quirked into a small smile.

“My dad never said that a lot,” Tony carried on. “Actually, he never said that at all. So, I made it my goal to be the best dad I could ever possibly be.”

Peter raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, so, that didn’t really work out,” Tony muttered. “But, you gotta cut me some slack, kiddo, I was scared out of my damn mind. I was too busy worrying about doing it all wrong, so naturally, I did it all wrong. And I’m sorry about that. I just hope I made it up to ya.”

“Why’re you telling me all of this?” Peter asked, voice falling hushed. He was scared of losing everything, and the more Tony spoke, the more it consumed him.

Tony smiled softly. “Because I’m stubborn. And I knew that you needed to hear it. Everyone needs to hear that someone is proud of them. Do you think I should lose the ascot, or just keep it? I can’t decide if the pink works.”

“Uh… keep it,” said Peter. “So, I’m not–– I’m not dead?”

“Nope, you’re gonna live a happy, healthy, and _very_ prosperous life.”

“And you?”

Tony’s grin faltered. “Well, let’s just say––” He squeezed Peter’s shoulder. “––you’re gonna make sure I’m right there with ya.”

Peter exhaled shakily and nodded. “Th-thank you.”

“What’re you thanking me for, kiddo?” Tony asked. “If anything, I should be doin’ the thanking.”

Peter wrapped his arms around his mentor’s––_his dad’s_––torso and held on tight. Tony was hesitant to reciprocate, but he did nevertheless.

“Thank you for being the best dad,” Peter mumbled against the suit jacket. He closed his eyes and sighed. He could feel Tony’s smile as he pressed a kiss to the top of Peter’s head. “I love you.”

A chuckle rumbled through Tony’s chest. “I love ya, too, kiddo.”

___

When Peter woke up, he couldn’t feel his body. He stared up at a gray ceiling, listening for voices over the soft murmur of a television in the background; meanwhile, he tried to move his fingers, but the communication wasn’t there. He was a head with no limbs and nothing more. At least, that was what it felt like, and there were enough drugs in his system to convince him so. He quickly succumbed to his heavy eyelids and fell into a dreamless sleep.

___

The next time Peter woke up, he could feel his toes. He wiggled them one-by-one and adjusted his vision, but as he took a deep breath in, a cloud of red coated over. He was met with intense pain, and he passed out as soon as it came.

However, he wasn’t asleep for long. He could hear his name being called with a tolerable force. It was enough to stir him back into consciousness. He could feel his legs _and_ his toes this time, and his head no longer felt as fuzzy as it had before. But, as he came to, the sound of his name was absent in his left ear. He could only hear out of his right.

“Peter, _Peter_, oh, thank God.”

He blinked while the blinding light poured in. The face of his aunt came into view a second after. She had been crying, but it seemed as though the tears dried long ago. All that was left were red-rimmed, swollen eyes and faded mascara stains. She ran her fingers through Peter’s hair.

“May?” he tried to say, but he knew it hadn’t come out. His throat and mouth were completely void of any moisture, and his cracked lips had stuck together.

She smiled warmly as a teardrop rolled down her cheek. “I’m just–– I’m so glad you’re okay, Peter. I was so worried when Happy told me that––”

“Happy?” Peter managed. He lifted his torso to sit up, but he was quickly pushed back down by the sizzling pain coursing through his left arm and into his chest. His eyes welled with tears. “May,” he whimpered. “May. I can’t–– I can’t lift my arm. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I move?”

Terror washed over her features for a moment, but it faded as soon as it came. She brushed a few strands of hair back and kissed his forehead. There was exhaustion on her face, one that Peter recognized in Tony whenever he labored over new ideas and projects.

_Tony._

“You’re okay, Peter,” she whispered, pulling back to face him with that familiar motherly look.

“May,” Peter said again. A few tears slipped as he spoke. “What _happened?_ W-where’s Tony?”

“You were a hero,” she answered, “that’s what happened. You didn’t want him to take all of the credit apparently.”

Peter’s lip trembled. “What’s wrong with my arm? Where is Tony? May, _please_.”

She frowned and placed her hand over his bandaged one. The exposed fingers were dark and scabbed, and Peter’s stomach lurched at the sight. He swallowed thickly as his eyes followed the bandages up his arm. They stopped at his shoulder. Peter, pushing through a layer of panic, ran the fingers from his right hand along his collarbone. All he could feel were streaks of charred skin.

“You saved him, you know,” she said. “They tried to explain it all to me, and I-I just don’t know. There were stones and aliens, they said. We had all been dead for five years, I––” May tried to laugh it off, but eyes spoke otherwise. “I’m still freaking out, Peter. And then you–– you and Tony sacrificing yourselves like that…”

Peter couldn’t figure out what to say. The memories trickled back, and he could still smell the smoldering rubble as if it was stained on his skin. Tony had the stones, and he was being killed by them. So, Peter lost control. He jumped in, reached his arm out, and there was pain–– _so much pain_, and then there was an orange haze. Tony was in that haze.

Peter could remember the pain from the stones all too well.

“Where’s Tony?” he repeated.

“He’s home,” May replied. “Getting round-the-clock care. And he’ll be asleep for a while. But he’s alive, Peter, and that’s because of you.”

“He’s–– he’s alive?” Peter breathed out. A small smile grew, but any movement took too much energy. His eyes had grown heavy.

May smiled and nodded. “Get some rest,” she said, pressing another kiss to his forehead before she stood. “And save your energy before Ned gets here. I’ve had too many conversations with his mom this week.”

Peter forced another smile. “Thanks, May,” he said. His eyes fluttered shut as she left, and he was out like a light.

___

The hearing in Peter’s left ear hadn’t returned. The doctors had no idea if it ever would. And they had prescribed him way too much pain medication. They were astonished by how rapidly he was improving, meanwhile, he and May exchanged knowing glances throughout the entire conversation. He would spare them the details about his healing abilities, although he would have loved to see the looks on their faces.

Peter wore a sling now. It was tight and itchy, and it didn’t do much for the pain, but it kept him from being stupid. (No one said that, of course, but they thought it). It had only been two days since he fully regained consciousness, and he spent every minute clinging onto desperation. Clinging onto the hope that once he got better, he could be Spider-Man. He could see Tony.

Tony had it worse, they said. Tony lost his arm, they said. Tony was in a coma, Tony needed breathing support, Tony _this_, and Tony _that_. Peter cried at the thought, and a part of him didn’t want to see Tony that way.

At least Tony was alive, Peter thought to himself. At least they had each other back.

Peter wasn’t able to sleep. He thought about space and the heavy atmosphere of that dusty planet. He thought about how it felt to know he was dying. He thought about how it felt to die. And lastly, he thought about how Tony had lived another five years thinking that his own son was dead.

Peter had been _dead_. And he still didn’t quite feel alive.

Half of the universe had been dead as well. May couldn’t stop crying, and Ned was riddled with anxiety. No one knew how to behave anymore. Peter, on the other hand, was still convinced that he didn’t exist. His footsteps were too light, and his mind was empty. Up was down, left was right, and he didn’t sense things anymore. That scared him the most.

He was discharged from the hospital after four days. The next day, he sat in the passenger seat of Happy’s car, hair still damp from his shower as he stared out at the trees. He lost himself in their yellows, oranges, browns, and reds, meanwhile wishing he had seen the summer for just an evening or two. He was terrified to look at the road ahead. He was terrified to reach the end of it.

“You okay there, Peter?” Happy asked after a while. He had grown a beard, and he listened to Peter now when he talked.

Peter nodded. “Yeah. Just tired.” He figured the conversation would drop after that, yet he could still feel the weight of Happy’s occasional gaze.

“You sure?”

Peter hummed.

“Cos’ if you’re hungry or somethin’, we can––”

“I’m _fine_, Happy,” Peter said, his sharp words cutting through the thick air.

Happy didn’t speak up again for another minute or two.

“It’s really good to have you back,” he said quietly. “Tony didn’t–– he didn’t handle it well. He lost you, and the world lost Spider-Man. He kept callin’ me. Called me every night, and he hardly said a single thing every time. Just white noise for seven months straight. He lost his parents, but he never lost anyone like he lost you. I’ve never seen him so––”

“Happy, please stop.”

Happy sighed. “I’m not sayin’ this stuff to make you upset, Pete. I just don’t want you to forget how much you mean to him.”

Peter slumped lower in his seat.

“He’s gonna have a real big smile on his face when he wakes up and sees you,” the older man continued. He looked exhausted, but he hid it well.

“_If _he wakes up,” Peter grumbled.

“He will,” said Happy as he smiled softly. “Because he knows you’ll be there when he does.”

___

Peter hadn’t prepared himself. The man was in a coma. The man had lost an arm. But Peter preferred to believe it wasn’t true. He continued to believe it until he stepped into the room.

Peter stood frozen in place. The room was warm and inviting, just like he imagined Tony’s home to be. Yet, the bed in the middle stuck out like a sore thumb. It was eerie, and Peter wanted to cry. Tony was the strongest man he knew. Tony was brave. Tony was smart. And now, he was gray, thin, and weak, and he was hooked to million different wires going a million different ways. There were more than Peter had the energy to count. He wasn’t staring at the man he knew.

Tony’s burns were worse than Peter’s. Carbonized lines branched up his neck, over his jaw and up to the top of his head. It hardly looked like him. Peter knew that if Tony ever woke up, he would make a Two-Face joke and pretend like the coma had never even happened. Peter just wished that moment was now.

But the burns weren’t the worst part of all. Beneath the covers, there was nothing where his right arm had been. _I’ll help him make a new one_, Peter thought, swallowing down the prickling tears, _it’ll be better than the first_. _Hot rod red with a nice gold trim, just like Iron Man. _The tears quickly fell after that, droplets slick against his cheeks while he thought about what came next. It was hard to see Tony in this state. That was his _dad_. That was his _hero_. Heroes were supposed to be stronger than the underdogs. Tony was always meant to be stronger than Peter, and he was always meant to be by Peter’s side no matter what. Tony was supposed to be telling Peter that it would all be okay soon. He was supposed to be the one who _was_ okay.

Peter visited Tony every other day. Whether it was May or Happy, or sometimes even Rhodey behind the wheel, Peter was there by four o’clock on the dot. His arm still ached, his left ear had picked up on a few frequencies, and his burns had left a hint of scarring. It was relieving to know that the stones hadn’t damaged his hearing for good. He was healing at a slow pace, but he still was healing. He just didn’t feel normal, and he knew he never would.

Tony was improving slowly each day. His oxygen levels were normal, and he could breathe on his own now. A few of the wires had been taken away. His daughter celebrated this by pinning a few new drawings to the wall beside him.

Morgan had an immediate liking towards Peter, almost as if she already had known him for years. She cuddled up close and helped him read bedtime stories to Tony. And when Peter walked in on a particularly rough day, the tears in his eyes still fairly evident, she let him borrow her favorite Spider-Man action figure. He cried harder, of course, but it was a manageable feeling. The day he had found out about Morgan, however, had not influenced manageable tears.

Things were harder now, and Peter’s chest felt heavy every time he breathed. Breathing was hard. Living was hard. And he still didn’t feel quite alive, but he at least had one more family member to live for.

Peter adjusted the strap of his sling as he stepped into the cottage. It was a cold afternoon, yet his dad’s home was always warm. Deep down, Peter knew it was all Pepper’s design choice. There were woven pillows and fleece blankets on every comfortable surface, and there were picture frames on every wall. Peter had stared at the pictures of him and Tony for hours one evening. It was still weird to think that five years had gone by in a flash.

Something was off as Peter made his way down the hall. He recognized the slow build-up of anxiety and the steady beep of the heart monitor. He recognized the dim light and the soft whir of machinery from a room away. But there was a feeling in the air that he couldn’t place, so he carried on.

He took one step into Tony’s room, and then he took one step back.

The older man was sitting up, face deathly white as he evened out his breathing. His only hand was placed on his chest.

Peter couldn’t move, and he couldn’t speak. He wanted to close his eyes and wake up in his own bedroom. This wasn’t what he was expecting. This wasn’t something he had prepared himself for.

When Tony met Peter’s gaze, his eyes softened. His expression relaxed, and his hollow cheeks suddenly held a little bit more life in them. “Pete?” he whispered.

Peter took another step back, calling out, “_Miss Potts!_” while he tried to escape down the hall.

“Peter, wait,” Tony said. His voice was rough.

Peter slowly paced back to the doorway. All it took was one more glance, and the tears fell. “Tony,” he whimpered, sniffling as he wiped at his eyes. His backpack slid off of his shoulder.

“You gonna give your old man a hug, or just stand there loomin’ like a spider on the wall?” Tony rasped out, a lazy smile stretching before he glanced down at Peter’s sling. “Like-father-like-son.”

Peter tried to smile. He tried to be happy that Tony was awake, that Tony was _alive_. But the overall weight of the past month was cold on Peter’s shoulders.

“I’m–– I’m sorry,” he sputtered out. “I’m so sorry, Tony. I’m so––”

“Don’t waste your breath, kiddo,” Tony mumbled. “We both got a lot of things to be sorry about. Jus’ wanna hold you now. Okay?”

Peter nodded and carried his feet to the left side of Tony’s bed. The man was frail, but he was still Tony. He was still smiling as if nothing had even happened. Peter sat down beside Tony, placed his free arm around his torso, and held him close.

“Gonna make you a new arm,” Peter mumbled. His tears were hot on his cheeks. “Promise. Red and gold. Like Iron Man. Good as new.”

Tony chuckled and tightened the hug. They sat in silence for a few moments, nothing but the heart monitor and their shaky breaths to fill the white noise between them. Peter swore that Tony was crying, too, but he had always had a wild imagination.

A moment later, Tony spoke again, and through quiet sniffs said, “you’re so brave, kiddo. I’m so proud of you.”

Peter smiled and closed his eyes. Nothing would ever be the same, but nothing had ever been normal. And Peter was okay with that. He had family, and that was all that mattered. 


End file.
